Jan 23

Rambling Thoughts on a Winter’s Day…

The internet is old enough now to be new all over again. Ten years ago, “hyperlinks” were all the rage for how to get your website ranked higher in the search engines. Popular sites “recommend” other popular sites by exchanging links with them to produce higher browser rankings for both. Think of it as word-of-mouth advertising with an “e” on the front end or as the geneses of Facebook’s “Like.” Well, links are back in vogue again. Apple, Google and Microsoft make the browsers we all use to surf the web, and they battle each other with light sabers and dark forces for supremacy in this market. Shaking up the sequence algorithm – that’s the crunch and grind of data that decides who gets to be Number 1 – keeps the internet fresh. That’s a good thing because of how large and vast the beast is today, but it does make for more work at the individual website level…

One of the nicest things about running your own business is you get to set the schedule. Running a small business means you are never without something to put on that schedule, and January is one of those months when a lot of things come due. January is the time to compare and to project, too, and maybe make a few resolutions. In the online advertising business, it’s about keeping my clients ahead of the pack, or at least within their budget…

In the novel writing business, it’s hibernation time for me. The fingers are quiet but the mind is still churning out plotlines, ideas that need to ferment in the gray matter a while longer. It’s time to find an agent and a publisher, and I can’t wait to see what Jenna Jinks comes up with for cover art for Broken String, but there is nothing else I can do for the novel itself at this point. I bought the Writer’s Digest’s 2016 Guide to Literary Agents. The book-buying landscape has changed drastically since The Freya Project was published twelve years ago and there’s a lot to absorb inside the Guide’s 330 pages…

Funny thing, the first words you read on the cover are about how to register online to take full advantage of their free, one-year online membership that came with the purchase of this book about how to get your book into print…

When I published Seoul Legacy, The Orphans Flu in the summer of 2012, self-publishing did not have the respectability or acceptability it has today. Fifty Shades of Grey was barely fifty days old. Today, we have Kickstarter.com as one way of funding a novel, and I speak from first person experience when I tell you it can work. The Alice’s Adventures Under Ground Project was an overwhelming success and a class-act to boot. When my printed copy arrived, well before the promised date of Christmas, the first thing I unpacked from the box was a pair of white gloves. They were cheap knockoffs to what the British Library Historian might wear while handling the original Alice, but what a perfect gift for a facsimile book! That’s classy stuff for a classic story. What could I include with Broken String? Something outstanding yet inexpensive? Good ideas gladly accepted here…

February is a leap month this year… What are you going to do with your extra day?

Read On!

-Phil

Jan 21

Cruising in Europe

Claire1Last September we took a cruise on the Danube and the Rhine Rivers. We started off in Budapest, Hungary and finished in Amsterdam, The Netherlands. The trip lasted two weeks and was lovely.

Living, eating, drinking and floating along was very relaxing. The boat stopped every day in a different city. Most of us got off and went with local guides to see the sights.

The excursions were very interesting. In the larger cities, the guides would first take us on a bus for an overview of the entire area. Then we would get off in the older parts of town and walk around. In the smaller towns, we were able to skip the bus part and walk right into town.

The guides were very well educated, spoke several languages and knew a lot of local history. They could easily talk about what life was like four or five hundred years for the people living there. They always shared lots of interesting details and usually a few jokes.

I started to wonder, as I had more and more of these experiences, why would such educated people be so happy and willing to work as guides? I don’t think they were paid very much. They were always very happy with the tips we gave them in Euros.

I kept turning this question over in my mind trying to think of a polite way to ask. Finally I found a solution. In the next town, as we were walking around, and I was looking down at the cobblestones so I wouldn’t trip, I started working my way up toward the front of the group.

Claire 2I had to wait for the guide to stop talking. She knew so much and was so concerned that we learn every detail that she very rarely paused, even for a breath. She didn’t ever seem to be silent, even when we were making a difficult climb up a steep road to the castle at the top.

But, finally she did stop talking for a second. I sensed this was my big chance. So, before she could start in again, I started talking. I told her I enjoyed the tour, was learning so much, and was so impressed with how comfortable she was in English. Then I asked my question: Of all the jobs available, what was it about being a guide that made her choose this?

“Oh,” she confided, “there are no jobs…” Apparently most of these towns had no business or industry, other than that related to tourism. If they wanted to live there, they had to find work. Being a guide or working in the tourism industry were the only opportunities available.

In a few other towns, I asked the guides there the same question. They all said the same thing. Yes, the towns were beautiful, historic and they liked living there. But no, there were no other opportunities to use their language skills and university training.

Do you find this surprising?

Jan 18

Coffee Shop Chronicles: Playing Games

Tuscan Cafe
Northville, MI

It really does come down to games, Dominos or not.

This afternoon is my writing time. I’m sitting at a table against the wall under the lamp shade so I have light to type by. I just finished two Americanos, light on steamed milk. The first Americano had a smidge of gingerbread syrup to spice up the holiday season, and the second was just straight up. You’d think I was a serious coffee drinker, but, really, I’m just a novice who latched onto some impressive-sounding coffee name. I feel like I belong here.

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Tuscan Cafe: environmentally friendly

I’m gathering my laptop and notebook to leave when a guy and a boy walk in and sit at the small circular table by the window. From what I overhear, he seems to be a Big Brother to the 13-year-old 8th grader.

I’ve got plenty of room on my rectangular table for everything I have, so I stop packing up and pull out my journal to record the moment.

BB leans forward and asks, “How’s the relationship with you and your brothers?” That’s what makes me think Big Brother in the first place. That and the time is now 3:30pm, which is just after school.

I overhear BB say he likes that the boy plays Minecraft, that “…it’s a game that requires you to work as a team.” I don’t know the game, but I feel like I should. I’ve heard it enough in pop culture media. Note to self: look that up.

Now BB teaches the boy how to play Dominos. This is significant because last night I watched my Season 2 DVD set of Major Crimes. The last episode I saw is what I call the Lost Horizons episode. Tim Conway plays the episode’s main character, Howard. In one scene, he flirts with the female lead, Capt. Raydor, mentioning Dominos.

Howard: “I could teach you to play Dominos, but I, uh, don’t have my Dominos with me.”

Capt. Raydor: “I already know how to play Dominos.”

Howard: “I bet you do.”

At the same time, in another room, Lt. Provenza questions someone else who talks about Dominos.

Provenza says, “It always comes down to Dominos.”

So here I am, watching BB teach the boy to play. I don’t know how to play Dominos, actually. I know how to match numbers but not the rules of scoring. I also know how to stack them in a row so they all fall down. Who plays Dominos?

I half listen as I write and half watch without trying to stare directly at them. I want to hear BB explain how to play. The big window gives me an excuse to look in that direction. If we accidentally make eye contact, I can glance over at the bike chained to the tree or the church across the street or the cars driving by on Center Street. I could even turn my head to the left and stare at the long, roomy wooden table that divides the coffee shop into thirds.

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Coffee drinks and games: together time

My husband and I play games in coffee shops, usually Yahtzee in various Starbucks. It’s a Travel Yahtzee game we, ironically, bought at Starbucks a few years ago when they promoted toys and activities among their products. We have Travel Scrabble from that time, and we’ve bought other portable games through the years. These are our “date nights” because we get out of the house, spend time together and drink coffee. A long table like that one would be roomy, but distant. We choose cozy tables like this one I’m at or the one the guys are sitting at now.

I miss any Dominos explanation over the mellow music playing overhead, but the discussion of games continues. BB: “I wasn’t good at Tetris when I was young.” Now I have a frame of reference of the guy’s age. He’s a child of the 80s.

Then BB asks: “Is that coffee making you tired?”

Boy: “Yeah.”

Thirteen years old and introduced to coffee. That’s our society today.

BB and boy wrap up their visit and pack up the chunky white tiles into a snap-close metal box. I never hear how to play Dominos, but the game box looks like it was the original BB had as a younger guy.

I’ve seen some people play games in coffee shops. Last week, at Miracle Coffee, two women had a pile of board games, they looked old, worn and well-loved. Gathering their games up when we arrived, they saw us pull out our Travel Yahtzee. We all got talking about board games. They may have mentioned that there is a Triple Yahtzee game out there, a game I vaguely remember, like maybe I had it as a kid. Maybe I still have it. I’ll look through my childhood toy box in the basement.

Classic board games have become “the thing” these days. The box designs look retro, but they’re all too new, looking fake. I believe in using authentic items. In scrapbooking, I use the real photo, scan a copy if it’s precious and irreplaceable. In mixed media art, I incorporate real tickets, tea bag tags, and cancelled stamps. Because of this, I prefer original game boxes that hold the authentic game.

Games are a good thing, old or new, especially if they bring us together.

Jan 16

My Fair Share of the Green Flash

I’m not sure when it was that I first heard about the phenomenon of the green flash. I don’t remember when I first looked for it. I just know that I’ve been looking for years.

Throughout my lifetime of chasing sunsets, I never spotted a bright green glow rise above the setting sun. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of times I planted myself on a shoreline at dusk. My feet sifted the sand between my toes. I faced the horizon and watched the sun drop below the surface of the earth in the exact spot where the ocean met the sky. There, I admired a dramatic display of light as the sun and sky swirled clouds and blended colors together before resting for the night. Never did I see the end of a day punctuated with an exclamatory pop of green.

It was as if the celestial wonder was determined to hide from me. I began to doubt its very existence. I surmised that, even if it was real, catching a glimpse of the green flash at sunset was as unlikely an experience as viewing Halley’s Comet.

In 2007, Disney writers spun Caribbean lore to their advantage when they presented an explanation for the elusive sighting in Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End. Onboard a pirate ship and navigating a crew to Davy Jones’ Locker—the Underworld—Captain Barbossa asked deckhand, Gibbs, “[Have you] ever gazed upon the green flash?”

Gibbs began a dramatic response: “I reckon I’ve seen my fair share. Happens on rare occasion; the last glimpse of sunset, a green flash shoots up into the sky. Some go their whole lives without ever seeing it. Some claim to have seen it who ain’t. And some say—”

“It signals when a soul comes back to this world, from the dead!” crewman Pintel interrupted Gibbs and finished the statement.

Impressive storytelling, I thought upon hearing those lines, but I recognized the clever manipulation amongst them. Writers and producers had already created a fictitious world in which cursed men were unable to die and at least one mangy pirate looked strangely attractive. Why not suspend belief further by breathing life into something else that wasn’t real? I was now convinced that the green flash was just a myth.

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My family and I stare too soon at the setting sun.

In March of 2015, I met a Caribbean woman who perpetuated the legend. Relatives and I spent one of our vacation days in Nevis. We waited for a ferry to take us back to St. Kitts where we had rented a condo for a week. The gatekeeper at the dock in early evening was the same person who braided tourists’ hair on the beach during the heat of the day. We didn’t recognize her, but rather she—quite observant and well acquainted with the comings and goings of visitors—noticed us.

Her name was Sweet Pea, and she created goodwill by meeting and greeting island guests. Among her favorites, I found out, were Kelly Ripa and her daughter, Lola. Sweet Pea had braided Lola’s hair, of course.

While my family and I talked with Sweet Pea, the night sky started to poke the sun downward. Our host became excited and told us to watch the horizon for the green flash. I had to look away from her for a moment in order to hide my smirk. I also couldn’t let her see me rolling my eyes in disbelief of this touristy tale.

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A cloud moves in just as the sun is starting to widen at its base.

The sun continued to lose its commanding presence in the night sky. As if embarrassed by its decreasing status, the sun found a place to hide. It slipped behind a ship that had been docked and abandoned sometime long-ago in the tiny port. For sure now, we wouldn’t be seeing the green flash—or fabricating an impressive story of having seen it.

Sweet Pea didn’t give up. She urged my husband to hurry and make his way to the stationary ship for a better look. “Climb to the highest spot you can! Quickly! You don’t want to miss it!” She was insistent, so off my husband, Greg, ran with his camera in hand. I turned to my in-laws and dismissed the nonsense. “It’s just a myth,” I said. Sure enough, Greg came back without having seen a green flash in the distant horizon.

That night, we returned to our condo and researched this supposed phenomenon. Some of us just couldn’t let it go. That’s when I learned that I was wrong. Physicists, airplane pilots, NASA scientists, and layman all have something credible to say about green flashes. My family and I were intrigued to hunt again.

Two nights later, we packed our cameras and a telescopic lens and drove to a nearby beach. For awhile, it hurt to look at the setting sun, which meant we shouldn’t be doing that just yet. The sun needed to sink further down before it couldn’t damage our eyesight, but no one wanted to miss seeing the green flash. We continued stealing peeks.

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A green tinge is beginning to form along the outer edges of the oblong-shaped sun as it sets below the horizon.

With precision, each of us gazed as the sun settled. A cruise ship passed by. A cloud rolled in. A small boat skirted off to the south. While all those others seemed disinterested, we were riveted and hopeful. The sun sunk lower and lower. It touched the surface of the water and continued sinking.

The perfectly round shape became more and more oblong, but tinier and tinier. In the next instance, the oblong image completely separated from and hovered over the ocean.

We were rewarded for our renewed faith. We saw a green bubble, an oval of light, a dot in the exclamation point that marked “The End!” of our search.
.
.

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The marvelous green flash appears off the coast of St. Kitts, March 20, 2015. Photograph, Greg Bixby

The green flash appeared and disappeared almost immediately—less than a second or two, as we expected from our research. Greg’s timing was just right. He captured the moment in pictures!

My disbelief had turned to awe in two short days. It seemed as if true belief was a prerequisite to finding it.

I never expected to see it again.

Just seven months later, I had fun telling a golf partner about it while we finished a round at Torrey Pines in San Diego. I shared my story as the sun was quickly setting. My new friend had never heard of the green flash, so I told her to carefully watch the sun itself in its final performance of the day. Our husbands moved ahead of us, while we two ladies paused to look out over the ocean. This time there were no cameras to capture the sighting, but our hooting and hollering announced our thrill of seeing it.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be lucky enough to see the green flash for a third time, but I’ll forever be chasing sunsets in search of it. If I’m really blessed, I may even spot the epic blue flash.

Learn more about the green flash at astronomer Andrew T. Young’s page: www-rohan.sdsu.edu/~aty.

Jan 10

Hot Blacktop Ch. 7 – Test Ride – Part II

Mature content

“Is he alright?” Sienna asked. The boy’s reaction made her heart hurt. She recognized the look in those eyes. She watched as Saint turned, kneeled and gently held the boy’s tiny biceps to stop him from shaking. Saint started to speak to the boy. She couldn’t hear what Saint said, but she saw the boy nod. His wide eyes snapped to hers. Like lightening they flashed back to Saint and the boy surprised them both.

“No!” he yelled.

Sienna jumped as the word exploded from the boy and she reached out as if to stop him, but he ripped his body away from Saint’s hands and he ran off.

She took a step forward as Saint’s gaze followed the boy running away. Saint stood up, turned to face her and she drew up short. Anger poured off him in waves. Was he mad at her?

“What’s wrong?” She took another step back.

He didn’t answer for long seconds and looked out into the dark where they could no longer see the small figure. “I don’t know,” he finally responded and turned back toward her. She sensed some deeper tension in Saint, the tautness of his body, the way his brow creased and the tightness at his mouth drew his jaw together. But in a blink, his stress faded away and he smiled.

Sienna’s breath eased out. He wasn’t mad at her. But what would it matter? She was here to call off the date. He would be mad soon enough.

Saint’s worry for the boy, Sienna could see, lay heavily on his shoulder’s still. “The boy. His name’s Danny.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I’ve watched him slink around, going on about two weeks now. He’s shown up almost every day. This was the first time he came into the garage.” Saint shook his head and looked toward the ground with a frown on his face, then turned his gaze on hers. “Most days he sits in the bleachers.” He pointed out toward the grandstand. Saint ran his fingers through his hair, gripped hard with agitation and expelled a heavy breath.

Her stomach swirled with dismay. Danny had looked beat down, scared out of his mind. His stark and lost, pale blue eyes, for one second, when they’d latched onto hers, the light from the garage had made them shine…in fear, of her? But why?

“Where’s he going? Should we go after him?”

“Home,” he growled the word. “I wish I could go after him. After he’d come around a couple days I was curious. I tracked him back home.” He blew out a breath and he looked right into her eyes. “It’s not a good place to be, Sienna.”

The ominous words spilled Sienna into a dark corner of her past, a time before she’d met Megs.

The dilapidated house she’d considered a home with faded, chipped paint, was a placeholder. A cold, empty box of a room with a mattress that had belonged to someone else, so worn from age she rolled into the middle when she slept.  It had been more cage then home. Stale odors of booze and cigarettes were like a second skin; ones she could never peel away.

Sienna rubbed her arms cold from the memory.

The good days were the ones her Dad was passed out on the couch and her Mom had holed up in her room. Though the results of beforehand was her mother curled up on her bed, her body used up, bruised and scarred, the visible proof of abuse mapped on her thin skin.

The day Sienna met Megs was the first time Sienna dared to sneak out. It was the reason she’d raced out of Hampshire’s Stop and Shop. She’d been thinking about where to hide the food so her dad couldn’t find it. She couldn’t be caught or his wrath would have been evident in the days that followed.

“You should have never been born, Sienna!”, “You’re useless, girl.”, “Get me a damn beer, that’s the only thing you’re good for.”, “I could never love someone like you! You’re pathetic, whining and crying all the time.” That was only after he’d kick her for not getting his beer fast enough.

She could hear her mother’s words, “You’re the one who drove your father to drink. For being born. For coming between him and me this is the life we get. The life we deserve. If I’d just gotten rid of you like he told me to, he’d still want me.” She was the reason her father started using his fists on her mother, the reason her mother finally left Sienna with him. She was never good enough.

Sienna was cold to the bone, though she wore an extra layer under her coat. She stared in the direction Danny disappeared. It was so much worse for Sienna, when her mother took off. Even though she said so many hateful things, Sienna was her daughter. She loved her some, right? After all these years the woman still called her occasionally. Sienna’s memories snagged her again. The last time she saw the woman it was in the parking lot of her high school. She waited in her car, but when Sienna approached, her mother took off. “Come back, Mom,” she screamed as her mother’s car got farther and farther away.

Sienna swayed on her feet, the past blurring with the present, caught by the pain that it caused in her chest. She grabbed onto the only thing in front of her, but Saint must not have noticed her dismay. He kissed her. When she was able to come up for air, she looked up into his face and a cocky smirk made his mouth twitch. She blinked, still dazed and then remembered why she’d come.

Sienna pushed away, or she tried, but Saint’s grip tightened. Crap!

“Saint? She tried to push him away, but he held on tighter. “Saint!” She was able to get him to understand she needed space, but it wasn’t a whole hell of a lot that he gave her. “We can’t do this,” she said in aggravation and crossed her arms, which was difficult because Saint still had his arms cinched tightly around her.

He frowned, then his eyes narrowed. “Stubborn woman.” Saint took her hand, ignored her physical protests and dragged her toward the garage that still blared with light, toward the only bay left open. Okay, so he didn’t exactly drag her. She went willingly, almost, even knowing she shouldn’t.

When she dug her heals in the ground, he just picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. “Put me down, you…you Neanderthal.”

“No.” His voice gave no quarter.

Sienna’s mind was a jumbled mess when he became all alpha male. Maybe if she took the stupid ride, he would leave her alone. On one hand she loved it, the way he carried her, cared for her, like she was precious in some way. Was she? On the other hand, she wanted to kick his ass for being so bossy.  Although, in every encounter they’d had so far, he never let her feel like she was less. She sighed, thinking still. He had sent her all those flowers. How he found out Gerber’s were her favorites…it must have been Megs. Megan would just have to stop spilling all Sienna’s secrets. She wanted to be left alone, to wallow in her self-pity. But the notes had been sweet. So, he wasn’t very good with words. She rolled her eyes, but of course Saint couldn’t see it. By the end of the week the notes had made her blush, telling her that he wanted to kiss every inch of her skin, taste her sweet creamy breasts. She was getting hot just thinking of it.

Sienna hit him on the butt. It was all his fault she wanted him so bad, her mind cluttered with sexy images, especially the ones where all of Saints clothes miraculously disappeared. “Mmm.”

“What was that?” he asked and squeezed her derriere.

“Nothing,” she squeaked.

Inside the garage, Saint slid her down, achingly slow. Shit! Her breasts tingled against his hard chest, his grip on her ass made her want to grind her body against his. Her wantonness doubled, so hard to ignore. She stifled a groan. Damn him if her desire to be under him on a soft bed didn’t rear its frustrated head…again. Memory of the orgasm he’d given her in her kitchen made a return performance.

She was so caught up, her breath turned harsh and her blood galloped, she hadn’t realized Saint had set her down and tried to hand her a helmet, and kissed her exposed neck. She melted a little more inside, the zing of temptation he sparked shot straight to all the hot desperate places she wanted him to touch. She was more disgusted with her bodies uncontrollable overtures for the man, she wanted to scream, for wholly different reasons.

“Saint, I’m not doing this.”

“Not taking no for an answer. You’ll love it.”

“No, I won’t!”

Saint smiled, the jerk, and got on a sleek black roadster of some sort and started it up. The rumble of sound made her jump. Sienna glared at him. Arms crossed, she looked out toward her car, tempted to leave. Before she could move he pulled her toward the bike and patted her left leg and handed her a pretty black helmet that was embellished with swirls, feathers and flowers. She stared at it. He tapped the helmet this time.

Reluctant but determined to end things when they got back, she put the helmet on and got on the bike. Sienna wobbled and gripped Saint’s shoulders when he righted the bike and kicked the stand back.

Her scream projected past the visor when he revved the throttle at the same time he yelled, “Hang on tight!” and took off straight out of the garage. Her arms locked around Saint’s waist. Varieties of creative curse words flew from her mouth as he shifted and the bike leapt forward again. Saint just laughed. With it she felt every release and contraction of his muscular stomach. It wasn’t fair.

Each curve he maneuvered became a dance with physics. The vibration of the rawhide seat was a constant pulse against her girly parts. The farther they rode, the more aroused she became.

It took too long for her to relax into his back and enjoy the ride. She wanted to forget she shouldn’t be here, forget Layton’s indiscretions which reminded her that she shouldn’t risk her heart again. But she eventually did. She couldn’t help but think a man like Saint could come to love her? Right? Maybe? No, her mind screamed. She quickly built a wall around the thought. Nobody could love her, not where it counted. Not enough to stick around. It was a proven fact that everyone left her. Well, except for Megs. Her friend would never abandon her.

When her mind went back to that notion, the image of Danny sprang to mind. He was a mirror of herself after her mother left. The loss of that small amount of protection was devastating. Something needed to be done to help the boy. Could she intervene?

She felt a tap on her leg and realized they were coming to a stop.

She got off the bike not paying attention and gasped when she looked up. It was spectacular. “What is this place?”

Saint didn’t say a word, grabbed her hand, and once again, pulled her where he wanted her to go. She really needed him to stop doing that.

“Saint!” She yanked her hand from his. “Would you please stop dragging me every which way.” She huffed and crossed her arms before she realized she’d even done it. She began to stomp her foot but stilled just in time. Sienna dropped her hands and smoothed out non-existent wrinkles on her jacket to cover up the petulance. All Saint did in response was kiss the tip of her nose again. She almost snarled at him but also nearly smiled as he wrapped his arm around her. “Frustrating man,” she mumbled.

“Sit with me.” He pointed to a bench that shown the view. It was too beautiful not to enjoy so she didn’t yell or put up a fight. The only problem, she didn’t wind up on the bench. Oh, no! Saint pulled her down onto his lap. She struggled, but her intentions to get up were weak. His heat felt too damn good in the chill that settled over their evening. Of course he had to engage her girly parts again. He pulled her close, his fingers, drawing lazy circles on her shoulder, which happened to be attached to the hand that smoothly moved under the collar of her jacket and shirt to find bare skin. She decided to focus on the view. Well, as much as she could.

They sat for a while the quiet lulling her to relax, but then Saint spoke. “My sister and I used to come here after my parents died. When things weren’t going right or we needed to clear our heads we’d come up here, stare out over the pine trees and just breathe to clear out all the other stuff in our heads.” She could feel him shrug his shoulders. “She’d gather pinecones and stack them up in a pyramid. I don’t know why she did it, but she would always be so focused I’d scare the crap out of her every time I told her it was time to leave.” He chuckled.

“Do you see your sister often?”

“No,” he said and rubbed his face with the hand that wasn’t occupied. “Becky was 18 when she overdosed.”

“I’m so sorry, Saint.” He squeezed her tight and then released her only a little, his hold still comfortably tight, his breath shaky as he let it out.

They sat with only the silence and stars for a long time. She thought of her mother. Sienna knew quite a bit about addiction. She shivered and put thoughts of her past out of her mind and concentrated on the sky.

The stars were a spectacle, millions of them trying to outshine the other. Sienna had always thought stars held a profound truth in their light. Some things outlasted even time. A human saw the light of a star that had perhaps died out eons ago, but its brilliance still lingered, remembered by the geeky astrologer. Remembered. Would someone remember her when her light stopped shining?

“What are you thinking about, sweetheart?”

Sienna sighed when he called her sweetheart. Layton never called her anything other than Sienna. “The stars,” she said and looked into his eyes. “They’re beautiful aren’t they?”

Without a word he leaned into her. “Saint?” she whispered. Slow as molasses he took her lips and she never once thought to back away. It was like she was a positive and he was a negative force that couldn’t help but come together, and God it was good. He sipped, teased, and licked at her mouth.  Her need for him only escalated. She wanted to push him away but every time his mouth touched hers another link formed between them, sunk deeper into her skin, grabbed hold, burrowed into that first layer of her shields that he’d started to crack after their first encounter just a few weeks ago.

Sienna closed her eyes when the reach of his stare, while he kissed her, tried to cast more of his web. She didn’t want to deny her body anymore but she would deny her heart if she could help it. With each swipe of his tongue she opened a little more for him until her lips took his. Her tongue forged its way into the depths of his mouth matching desire for desire. When his hand that caressed her collarbone drew her around to face him fully, she turned willingly.

Hands came out of her shirt and wrapped around her back, drawing her closer. His kiss deepened. The wild scent of him intoxicated her. She moved one leg over his lap, kneeled and sat on his lap crowding him, chest to chest. The zipper of her jeans aligned with his arousal.

“Oh!” she moaned, startled by the instant zing that made her body weep for him. Could this get any better, she asked herself. Oh yes it could. His lips answered her internal plea. They brushed across her chin, skimmed the sensitive spot just behind her ear. He suckled and licked until she moaned aloud. She shivered as he continued down a path straight to the line between her breasts as her bra hugged the swollen mounds. She tried to direct him back to her mouth, but he would have none of that. He grabbed her hips to still her but it caused her sex to jolt.

“Ohh!” They both moaned.

Heat flared at the touch and she rocked with longer strokes. The fevered motion hit her clit, back and forth, back and forth. It would only be more perfect if he had been inside her. He moaned her name and his tongue delved between her aching breasts.

“Please!” She cried, not knowing why she was saying it. “Need more,” she begged. Anything to make the ache between her legs ease. Her will to stay away from him was forgotten. All she wanted was him.

“What do you need, sweetheart?”

“I…I don’t know.” She continued to rub her clit against him and he dove back in with his mouth, his tongue, his hands, everything. Her movements quickened, the beat of her heart seemed to find his as their chest came together and he rocked with her, and suddenly, she couldn’t hold back the scream that joined the climax. She exploded with sinful pleasure. “Oh, God!”

“That’s it Sienna, let go. I’ve got you.”

It was too much. A sob broke from deep inside Sienna with his words. His arms wrapped tighter around her. “Why are you doing this to me. This can’t happen. We can’t happen.” With more strength than she thought she had she pushed away from him and stood up and almost lost her balance. She wobbled but then gained her feet. “Take me back.”

He stared at her for a long moment, like he was seeing the inside of her soul. She wanted to run and hide. Then, with very precise and pointed movements, he ran a finger over his lips, catching the shiny wetness that she had left behind and sucked the finger inside his mouth, tasting her. She almost whimpered but held herself in check. Just barely. He stood and she took a sudden step back, would have fallen, but again, Saint caught her easily.

He didn’t do anything more, just held her with his eyes, and she froze like a frightened child. Her breathing wasn’t easy after the tumultuous ride she’d just taken.

“Take me back.” She bit her lip and pushed him away. He let her go, but it was a slow thing. She wrapped her arms around her middle like it would help hold herself together while her insides sizzled for his heat again. She wouldn’t tell him to take her home instead, make love to her until she only felt him, thought of him, and nothing else. “Please?” She wasn’t past begging either, even if her body agreed that she should go home with him. She knew it would be good, but she had more control than this. Right? Whatever happened between them, she would be left alone in the end. She had to let him go.

He nodded once and she sighed in relief. But that was short lived when he grabbed her and brought them together. He squeezed her close, aligned them from head to toe, their fit perfect. Then his head dipped down fast and his lips took hers hard, like he was staking a claim, marking her in some way. The surprise unbalanced her, especially when he let her go just as suddenly and handed her a helmet. She stared down at it. Once again he protected her, but she didn’t hit him this time. Sienna let him do what he wanted. He got her on the bike and they headed back to the city. She planned to go home, put on her most comfortable pajamas and wallow in a pint of Cherry Garcia, wanting Saint, something she knew would never be hers.

When they arrived, Saint pulled into the garage and she got off the bike, handed him the helmet and tried to smooth out her hair. He took the helmet and put it in a cabinet off to one side. Saint turned around and zeroed in on her with his gaze, but said nothing.

“Well, thanks for the ride.”

Still nothing. She lifted her hand and turned at the same time she waved, when he finally spoke.

“This is good between us Sienna. You know it,” His voice was calm and direct but it did the opposite to her. Her heart started to tremble inside. This time she stayed silent with her back to him frozen to the spot, afraid of what she’d see in his eyes if she turned around. He continued, “That helmet’s yours Sienna.” She shook her head, and swallowed hard. “I’m not giving up on what we’ve started.”