Tag Archives: romance

A Writer’s Confessional Part Four

A lot has been on my plate this month. I decided to start my own business, my art illustrations and my jewelry the focus. It’s entailed time away from fiction writing but directed me towards writing copy for the marketing end of my business, where I got my ideas for my jewelry and art. It brought me back to around the time I began attending the Deadwood Writer’s Group. I was writing a children’s picture book. I’d developed illustrations which now I am selling as prints on my Etsy page, www.wjkartisandesigns.com. It’s an exciting time in my life and I’m glad and grateful that I get to share these artworks in my own way now.

Another aspect that’s filled my attention is all that goes into starting a business. Finance, marketing, social media, product development – more jewelry and illustration development. It’s a bit nerve-racking to fit everything in, meaning my artistic nature and my need to write juicy and intriguing romances. But a smart woman, when I thought doing both was crazy, told me, “Why can’t you do both?” Her encouragement toward my success and happiness has always been given right when I needed it. So, thanks Mom. Love you!

On other exciting news, I’m going to Ireland soon. I’m not even there yet and I’m already inspired. What kind of stories will sprout from my visit, the brogue, the people, the colors, the constant green that everyone talks about? My heart gallops to fiery beat of a stampede when I think of all the opportunities that have become evident these past few months, words that have been spoken by friends and family. I’ve heard encouragement before, but this time, as my friend and sister of the heart, Jo Self- who is also a branding/strengths consultant for business and the individual, would say, I listened to what the universe was trying to tell me and am using the strengths I’ve been given to make positive things happen.

Moon Eyes

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Her name was Beebe Rizzoli, but everyone called her Jersey. She was a transplant due to things out of her control. Her accent was something that people had a hard time ignoring. Trying to get rid of it was useless. She wasn’t adept at changing to conform with what society expected.

She was just Beebe and maybe something a bit more. Or at least, that’s what someone told her when she was told to leave her home. She was just about fourteen, fifteen. It was a life of scary ups and downs back then. Shaking her head, she tried to ignore that part of her life, but lately, she’d felt this itch under her skin, a constant reminder that her past was catching up with her. At least that’s what she thought. Her leaving her home had been like a tear in her consciousness and never made sense. She’d turn twenty-five in a few days. It was always in the back of her mind, the mysterious stirring that churned in her gut. She wasn’t just Beebe, but something else. And Beebe was running out of time.

“Jersey, you alright?”

She blinked a few times, tilted her head her hearing absorbing too much of her friend’s voice. She grabbed her ears and rubbed. Putting on a fake smile she turned to her friend Rhyme who’d started at the coffee shop around the same time she had. “Yeah.”

Beebe was working at Starbucks, it was going on seven years now, and she loved it. The smell of coffee, the look of coffee beans, the milk frothing, and then the mixing of the espresso into a beautiful treat. It was all delicious, but crushing on coffee wasn’t the greatest idea of real romance. A person couldn’t date coffee or snuggle up to coffee. Well, they could, but then most people would think it would be straight jacket city for her. She just hadn’t found anyone that interested her enough to take the next step or even turned her on for that matter.

Her hand grabbed the 2% in the fridge under the bar, she poured to the appropriate line, put the pitcher under the steam wand, and listened to the machine catch the milk in a shush and hiss, voicing its frustration at having to take another dip in a milk bath. The cup got pumps of chocolate, the espresso joined the chocolate, and she swirled the pair mixing the perfect amount of dark chocolate to espresso. The steam wand sighed into silence and Beebe grabbed the milk and poured it with a flare into the cup, the force mixing everything together. She grabbed the whip cream canister that was sprawled across the bar with other ingredients and topped the cup off with the perfect aplomb handing it off to a drive-thru customer.

“Jersey! You’re off the floor.”

She nodded to her shift manager and took off her apron heading toward the back.

Clocking out her stomach started to dance in excitement. She was staying in the café to work on her latest art project which involved coffee grounds and water. It was the first time she was trying anything like it. Beebe would grind up separately light, medium and dark roast coffees to see how the color, when applied to paper, would fare. If it didn’t work how she imagined it, Beebe would make due and supplement the project with another medium. She was trying for a sepia colored work. She thought the yellows and browns of the coffees would be perfect.

First, she would eat.

Up at the counter, she got a blueberry muffin and a protein box. Maybe I should get a yogurt too and the salad. She was hungry all the time now.

“You stickin’ around for a while?” Rhyme asked.

“Yeah. I’m trying something new tonight.”

Rhyme smiled. Her friend knew Beebe held a great passion for art.

Beebe worked at a 24-hour location which allowed her to stay late, relax, and think about how she could approach a project. It was great thinking space.

“Jersey? Do you want anything else?”

Beebe blinked distracted again.

“Ah…yeah. I’ll get this yogurt,” she grabbed it from the chill wall, “and a slice of Double Chocolate Loaf. Um, this salad too. Oh, and a Venti Flat White.”

Rhyme’s eyes widened. “Hungry much?”

A buzzing rang in her ears. She tried to shake it off.

“Did you see how much that girl ordered? She’ll be a cow in no time,” someone said and then giggled.

Beebe looked behind her to glare at the person who’d been so rude, but the line was empty. Until they spoke again. Her head tilted and the words could be heard clearly again. Almost at the vestibule door she saw what looked to be a teenager and her friends. Breath hitching, she realized she could hear everything they were saying, and then it just stopped.

“Beebe? You need something else?”

Beebe turned back to her friend and opened her mouth but closed it and shrugged. She didn’t know what to tell her. When done gathering all her food items, she took them to a high table and sat, got out her sketchbook and started to sketch while she ate and everything else faded away.

Beebe had just taken her last bite of food when Rhyme sat down opposite her.

“So, what’s up with you?”

From staring at a blank page in her sketchbook she blinked up at her friend. “Huh?” She looked down again. Her head seemed foggy. She flipped black through the pages she’d drawn on, and her eyes widened. She looked at the next, and the next, and the next and her panic grew with such intensity she couldn’t breathe.

She heard a bluster of noise when Rhyme got in her face.

“Breathe?! Breath. Are you okay?”

Beebe looked up into her friend’s eyes and tried to shut down the panic stirring in her belly.

“Who is that?” Rhyme pointed to the open pages. “He’s hot as hell.”

Beebe didn’t want to look down, squeezing her eyes shut until they hurt. She couldn’t remember drawing the man staring back at her, his face she couldn’t decipher, only his eyes were bright, the artic-blue gaze searing into her memory, the need and lust staring back at her freezing her in place.

Her pulse raced. Her veins throbbed. She didn’t remember drawing any of it. Any of him. Her fingers clawed into the wood table as her fingertips itched and burned as she tried to hold on to reality. Her breaths came harder and faster. Her fingers burned more.

“Dammit, Beebe! Take it easy.” Rhyme touched her hand.

Beebe swallowed a scream that came out as a squeak.

Aching all over Beebe opened her eyes to the image that she’d drawn and blew out the slowest breath she could manage before hyperventilating. Surrounded by tall needled pine in a meadow covered by a plush blanket of wildflowers she was on her hands and knees staring out from the paper. Her bright green eyes flashed with what could only be lust and the knowing smirk on her lips made her tremble. Tingles danced along her skin, her breasts peaked and strained against her bra. Beebe’s sex tightened as if trying to grab onto something.

She held in a groan.

Desire that always evaded her when with her partners of the moment unfurled deep within her sex making her gasp and flush. Embarrassed, she covered her face and rubbed furiously to get the image of the mystery man out of her mind and turn off her awakened libido. But she couldn’t.

She looked up at her friend. “I don’t know who he is.”

“Well, if you don’t mind, I’m going to use him as the best fantasy fodder every created. Mmm. Mmm.”

Beebe jumped out of her seat so fast her friend tripped backward until momentum carried her down to the tile. Beebe’s lips curled back, teeth exposed along with a deep, menacing growl. She slapped her hand over her mouth horrified.

Beebe whimpered. The urge so overwhelming to attack her friend she stumbled back knocking into the table. The white of Rhyme’s eyes grew to the size of the moon. Beebe’s breaths came fast, the scent of a bitter metallic coming off her friend, filling her nostrils. Her shaking hands grabbed her things throwing them in her bag. She had to get away.

‘I’m sorry, Rhyme. I’m sorry,” she cried.

Tears slipped from Beebe’s eyes. She raced out of the store, all the other partners staring at her as Rhyme got up. Beebe tripped as the unknown primal urge to claim what was hers, the man she’d drawn, and turn back and rip her friend’s throat out.

“Oh, God! What’s wrong with me?”

She ran like hell was lighting her heels on fire. Closer to her car she looked back and couldn’t see the store anymore or Rhyme. When she turned, she heard a noise like a low rumble. It distracted her enough she stumbled on a loose chunk of pavement, her things thrown everywhere. She fell to her knees and gathered them in a hurry, pulse pounding in her ears.

The rumble came again.

And again.

She ran even harder, the distance to her car seeming miles away. With a desperation she’d never known before, she prayed to anyone that would listen for her to reach her car safely. Time slowed but chased her like the wick on dynamite. Beebe cried out as she reached her car, fingers aching tangling with her keys, the tips pulsing like something wanted to tear through her skin. Precious moments lengthened until she finally opened the door of her car. She threw her things onto the passenger seat and slammed the door, locking it. Her head hit her steering wheel as she tried to settle her racing heart.

As her chest ached, she put the keys in the ignition and got the hell out of there. Only as she hit the gas, a heart-wrenching howl filled the night becoming a thick fog in her mind, like she was forgetting something. Or was it someone. She sniffed.

Its cry crawled along her spine and caused a whole-body shiver. She looked over her shoulder afraid of what she might see, afraid of the pull that made her long to turn around a follow the passionate howl. She wiped her face, tears coming away on her hand. How long had she been crying? Beebe hit the gas, but she looked over her shoulder again. She swerved out of the line of oncoming traffic into her own lane. Her tires squealed, and she rocketed down the street as she fled.

But the feeling of being held by that desperate cry, the need to turn back and seek what made it had her mind reeling. Why would she need to do that? She shook her head and kept driving. She had to get home, safe in her apartment.

Behind a locked door, she sank to her butt in a hard thump, her things pouring out of her bag a page opening to the eyes that cut deep into her soul seeking her own.

Beebe lifted the sketch book, flipped on the light and held the image in front of her. Who belonged to the ice blue eyes? Why had she drawn them?

An animal’s wail broke the silence of her apartment. It was just a stray dog she told herself. Up on shaking legs, she went to her room and readied for bed, not realizing she still held the sketchbook when she went to the bathroom. She threw it on the bed with enough force that it bounced off and onto the floor. She left it where it fell and went to brush her teeth. Beebe couldn’t get the image out of her mind.

When she finished her tasks before bed, she still couldn’t make the image quiet in her mind and decided to hell with it. She snatched the sketchbook of the floor and went to her art table to see if she could draw any more of the stranger. But her mind was stuck on the glacial stare, so Beebe began to draw something else. Her eyes started to get heavy and her lids fluttered down until she wound up crawling into her bed and falling asleep. The image of the stranger with ice blue eyes was the last thing she saw until she woke in the meadow of wild flowers.

Beebe looked down at herself and around. She didn’t feel right. Hadn’t she gone to bed? But she wore a dress made of linen and lace in a soft, almost nothing, blue that was so light that she could barely feel it caressing her skin as the breeze whispered through the fabric making it dance across her knees and flutter up to stroke her naked skin. She gasped. Where were her panties? She looked around again. More wild flowers appeared almost creating a cage of beauty.

“Hello?” Her skin prickled, and heat bloomed as the wind danced catching her bodies hairs. The silence of her question not carrying at all, as if she was still back in her room. She moaned. “Is anyone out there?” Was she dreaming? It had to be a dream.

A rustling came. A chuff. A yip. Beebe could see the flowers sway and dance as something brushed up against them too low for her to see. Her heart thumped faster. Excitement or fear she didn’t know. “Hello?” Her voice whispered so small she could barely hear it. “Hello?” A little bit louder now.

Foot beats sounded as she glanced over her shoulder. She circled. In front of her, behind her, once again. “Please, show yourself!” She yelled.

The beats went silent. She turned and turned to see if anything was out there, but the meadow had an eerie stillness that had her holding her breath. And then just in front of her a great beast stepped out of the wild flowers, it’s black coat thick and rich as shimmering coal and its eyes…It’s eyes shining like a beacon. The power of them held in their depths like the glaciers that hide the balance of nature below the Arctic waters in the north.

Beebe took a step forward not afraid. But why? And then the beast’s eyes took her in from head to toes. She began to shake as the beast came closer circling ever closer. As time slowed, fur brushed up against her bare legs. She moaned, but quieted when the great snout tipped up and skimmed along the underside of her breast. Her hands went to push the great head away but she stopped afraid of what it might do if she touched it. When the beast touched her again it brushed back and forth along her waist until it skimmed the hem of her dress, the wind exposing more of her legs.

A noise emanated from the animal. “Purring?” she said aloud. It butted her butt as if he was insulted. As it made another pass, the animal took another poke at her and lingered places it shouldn’t. “Stop that,” she snapped. Beebe tried to push it away, but then it came around and suddenly she was lying on her back on a bed of flowers covered by the animal. But soon that changed. The beasts’ eyes. Beebe gasped. Wolf.

Light fractured, and heat flashed across its skin. The weight of the animal shifted as the light splintered unspooling from the center of the wolf. It whipped gently across her skin in small lightning strikes, drumming sensitive areas, making her moan and writhe. But she knew it was odd to think this was alright. As more came at her, she couldn’t help the need it created inside her. Soft fur blanketed her. Beebe’s fingers locked onto the shoulders of the beast. She needed to hold it away, to get control of her reality, to wake up. This place couldn’t be real. It was just a dream. The light grew, and she squeezed her eyes shut, afraid of what might become of her mind if she lost herself in what was happening, if she let whatever she felt for this creature consume her. As her fingers held its fur they slipped onto flesh, and she gasped. She held on tighter and dug her fingertips into muscle. She was breathing with such force she thought she might lose consciousness. But at last, the sparks died and snapped out just as quickly as they exploded. The searing warmth made her skin dewy and aroused. She still didn’t dare open her eyes.

She couldn’t comprehend how or why this was happening. It seemed more than a dream. This wolf was somehow hers. At least that’s what she thought as her hips began to rock and hands that were no longer paws brushed up her sides gripping her wrists to stretch her arms over her head, the material of her dress inching up to expose her sex. She moaned, as the wolf that had transformed to a man held her down and spread her legs so he could fall into the v made by her spread legs.

“Please,” she said. Beebe didn’t know if she meant for him to stop or for him to keep touching her in such a sensual way. The man’s head nuzzled against her neck and his tongue tantalized the skin at her ear.

Her desire grew as her want for this man, who was not a man, began to pull back and adjust himself to skim her entrance. Beebe’s back arched just enough so with the next glide he thrust into her sitting himself deep within her core. The moans rolled over them both now like thunder in a never-ending storm. Each drag and thrust he slid over the most delicious spot, and her arousal grew. With each touch, she wanted him to go faster. And he did. With each kiss and lick, she danced closer and closer to the ultimate precipice of release. Beebe wanted it. Needed it. And she took it.

“Ahhhh!” Beebe screamed. Her orgasm hit her at Mach one, and she knew she had to be flying. She convulsed again, and again squeezing him tight, the pleasure so strong that she thought she would die from it. As another rush caught her, reality tipped once again. She gasped and moaned and writhed, the ache inside growing again until she fell over the edge, just as the man disappeared.

She woke to a scream, her own, it from pleasure and pain she didn’t know. He wasn’t real.

“It wasn’t real. None of it was true. It was just a dream. Just a dream,” she muttered.

“Hello, Beebeanna.”

Her eyes snapped open. Her heart raced. She turned to glowing glacial-blue eyes staring back at her.

Wolf.

It was the last thing she had thought before she passed out.

Bingo

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“B-13!” Mercy Mia sounded off at the head of the room. Ellie looked up at her friend, Mercury Martin. His lips were a dark red tonight with an edge of gloss with liner to bring out the shape. He had shadowed eyes that added sultry to the girl next door, and his cheeks brushed with enough color for the added drama. He had on his favorite sequenced form fitting dress. Also red. And she knew underneath the table he had on a pair of five-inch heeled shoes by one of his favorite designers, Manolo Blahnik. His breasts were hiked up and sitting proud. She wished she had that much cleavage. Add the bigger than Everest hair, and you had the perfect drag queen. Ellie couldn’t help but smile.

Ellie snickered as Merc told another dick joke in between number calling and Merc’s boyfriend, sitting next to her, snorted every time Merc looked over. They’d recently moved in together. They were adorable.

“Unlucky,” Ellie shouted at her friend and frowned. She blotted the letter/number on her bingo sheet.

“Suck it up, sister!” Merc yelled back.

Ellie smiled at her friend again. She stuck her tongue out at him. Mercury was one of her best friends and forced her to come out to drag queen bingo. She’d been hiding too long for his taste he’d told her.

She sighed. Her apartment was like a living dirge swallowing her up like a grave, and she was starting to resemble a vampire.

“G-7,” Mercy Mia called out.

Ellie slammed the blotter on the empty space on her card. She’d sat an hour already, and she was no closer to getting bingo.

“Honey,” Merc’s significant other Jackson said, “I don’t think your game board can take any more.”

She looked over at him. “Serves it right for not giving me any winning squares.” She looked at her board. Empty. Like her life.

Jackson was the total opposite of Merc. He was short and fit, muscular in all the right places. Though five foot ten wasn’t considered short to her, it just was short compared to Merc’s six foot four. Jackson wore a tailored suit of dark blue and a pair of trousers that fit and held him just right as they tapered down to his ankles. He’d just taken off his jacket, and the light azure shirt hugged his chest like it was a breast plate. How did he get it to look like that she wondered? He looked scrumptious.

Too bad he was of the man-loving-honey-bunches-of-oats-kind and wasn’t single. She would totally try for some of him. Though lately, she wasn’t of the man-loving-honey-bunches-of-oats-kind either. With each relationship tried, she felt something missing. There were orgasms, but they lacked that wow factor that all her other friends talked about. At 25 she’d think she’d have had an earth-shattering sex partner. A little voice seemed to be knocking at her subconscious more and more, letting her know she had to stop denying the truth about her sexuality. It was getting harder and harder to ignore.

She set down her blotter when the next letter-number was called out. She didn’t want to play anymore. Ellie wanted to go straight back to bed and bury herself under the covers like she’d done all week and enjoy some mint chocolate chip ice cream and then enjoy even more her B.O.B. battery operated boyfriend. If she couldn’t find someone to interest her tonight, she would do just that.

Ellie got up. “I’m going to get a drink.” And it would be a hard one, not the soft ones served on the bingo side of the building.

The venue for drag queen bingo was a renovated church, from saints to sinners. Its space was adjacent to the main part of the church, or the nave, and could fit enough tables to hold a banquet. There was a bar in the back that served only juice concoctions. But what was great about the place, it was lit up like a dance club. There was a disco ball that flashed different lights, sections that had high tables along with a glammed up wait staff that rivaled Mercy Mia’s in the bling department. The bar did up the drinks like guests were on a tropical island, and held several contests throughout the night.

The best part, though, the nave next door was an actual nightclub that catered to all kinds. Gay, straight, lesbian, transgender; name it, it was here. No judging anyone’s preference. It just was. Ellie loved the place and had often come until her last break up. Hidden under all the sheen that was Justin, was a prick in a suit, who, once she peeled away his outer layer had been the biggest judging asshole she’d ever met. She’d brought her to an event that Merc and Jackson were hosting and all he’d contributed was disdain for her friends.

She crossed over the threshold into Club One and got blasted with base and the image of gyrating bodies. She easily picked up the beat with her hips as she walked into the space, the sound hitting her body, and rippling over her skin. Ellie loved to dance and decided she would stay awhile and see if she couldn’t find someone to rub up against. Merc was right, she needed to stop moping around her apartment and join the living again.

Sidling up to the bar leaning her elbows on the smooth mahogany surface she waited for the bartender’s attention to turn her way. She relaxed into the sultry techno number that had just transitioned from the heavy base and let the beat take her as she waited, knowing that the bartender would come over as soon as she could.

Not realizing she had closed her eyes and was swaying, Ellie was startled by the bright and cheerful voice that greeted her. “What can I get you?”

Ellie stared at the girl in front of her, the drink she wanted to order on the edge of her tongue.

The woman smiled, and Ellie stumbled over her drink order. “A cos-cosmopolitan,” she said. Stunning was not a word she would use when describing a woman, but this one had made something light up inside Ellie tingling across her sex like a sparkler anxiously waiting for its lighting. Flashing a smile, the woman walked away backward to make her drink, and Ellie’s eyes couldn’t help but follow the woman’s hips. Tight fitting, low-rise jeans hugged the bartender’s ass as the curves of her waist moved gracefully up to just under her breasts, her shirt short enough to allow a peek of pale freckled skin. And then she turned away. Ellie licked her lips and then sucked in a breath that sent an unsure quiver up her spine.

What was she doing ogling the woman? She liked men. But as soon as the thought entered her mind she knew it was time to stop denying what she’d known a long time. Her head fell back, and she focused on the cathedral ceiling, blew out a slow controlled breath trying to sort out her thoughts.

In college, she had sometimes looked at some of the girls in her classes wondering, what if, but nothing ever made her body react giving her a nice buzz like this bartender. But neither had the guys she’d met or dated for that matter. What was it about this woman?

Ellie watched her work. Her delicate fingers, polished in a black glaze, plucked the bottles she needed off the back bar as her hips swayed to the rhythm that was shaking the walls of the old church. She twirled, poured, and flipped the liter bottles with aplomb to the delight of the crowd, the stream of liquor entering the shot glasses. The ice was next in the shaker and then she put the lid on, did her thing, next pouring the alcohol mixture into a martini glass. Her head turned, and the woman’s eyes flashed over at Ellie and Ellie’s nipples got hard. Ellie leaned forward trying to get closer, waiting, her breasts aching as they pressed against the bar.

The bartender didn’t take her locked gaze off Ellie as she came closer and set the drink down in front of her. She waited. Ellie didn’t dare move. She didn’t want to break the connection, but the woman moved her hand toward the drink and traced a bead of moisture down the stem of the glass and slid it closer to Ellie, and said one word. “Drink.”

With an unsteady hand, Ellie reached for the drink, her fingers brushing the bartenders. Time seemed to slow and then stop as skin met skin. Her breaths roared in her ears, and her chest hurt with each short puff like she’d just run a marathon. She was so turned on by this woman, never experiencing anything like the energy that their contact caused. And it went straight to all her delicate places. And then things started to move again, the woman smiling and walking away to make another drink.

Ellie sat and watched the bartender, nervous and confused, her knee tapping irregular rhythms as it bounced. She would catch the woman glance at her, making sure Ellie was still there. At least that’s what Ellie imagined. Or hoped. Would she come back over and talk to her? What would Ellie say?

She was looking down at her now empty glass when her eyes snapped up at being addressed. “What’s your name?” The bartender asked.

Suddenly her mouth went dry, and it was hard to speak. She picked up her glass and put it back down realizing again that she’d drank it all. She licked her dry lips.

“Ellie,” she said. But it was so soft the bartender had to lean in to hear, which brought her even closer, so close that their lips were almost touching.

“My names Sabrina.”

Ellie blinked and nodded, the woman’s minty breath dancing across her lips making Ellie’s insides quiver and her need grow even more. Did she have the courage to ask this woman to spend time with her after her shift?

As she was contemplating what she would say, Sabrina came back and set another drink in front of her. “This one is on the house.” Before she moved away, Sabrina reached out and touched her fingers that had the stem of the glass in a death grip. Ellie opened her mouth to say something, anything to keep her close but Sabrina moved away before she could.

The night grew later, and Ellie kept herself seated. She saw Merc and Jackson come in. They waved and went straight to the dance floor. Merc had changed and was now in a nice pair of denim and a t-shirt, always more casual than Jackson. She turned to watch them for a while. She was happy for Mercury, and desperately wanted to find what he had with Jackson.

Ellie turned back around and saw Sabrina talking to another woman at the end of the bar, leaning in, reaching out to touch the woman’s hand, and Ellie frowned. Did Sabrina do this to every woman that came to the bar? Was Sabrina even interested in Ellie? And then she saw Sabrina kiss the woman’s cheek. Ellie’s shoulders slumped, and she pushed her empty drink away.

Maybe it was just Ellie that nobody was interested in. Her mint chocolate chip ice cream was looking a whole lot better. She pulled out some money from her pocket and threw it on the bar. Before Sabrina looked this way, Ellie made her way over to her friends and said goodbye. She was tired of trying so hard trying to find what the universe was putting out there for her.

“I’m going to go home,” she yelled in Merc’s ear.

“Okay,” he said, his eyes narrowing and his lips pinching. She could tell he was worrying, but there was nothing Ellie could do to ease his concern. Ellie just needed more time to come to terms with her unlucky life.

“Don’t forget, Jackson and I will be at your house tomorrow at eleven.” He gave her a hug and kissed her on the lips.

Jackson turned to her and caressed her cheek in an unexpected gesture. He got close enough that she could feel his lips on her cheek and whispered right in her ear, “Everything will be okay.”

Will it? She wondered, waved, and walked away. She looked one more time over to the bar and unexpectedly caught Sabrina’s eyes. She turned away from the woman’s look of confusion toward the door and decided she would just ride out the storm that was brewing inside her. Things were going to have to change if she was going to find her happy. But she would think about that tomorrow.

When she woke up to the banging on her front door, she curled her head under her pillow and yelled, “Go away!” Of course, she knew it was Merc at the door, and he wouldn’t wait for her to get up. And sure, enough he didn’t.

“Rise and shine sleepy head,” he said from the front room after he used the key she’d given him.

She grumbled and started moving when the bed bounced up and down with Mercury’s weight.

“Give me a minute asshole.”

He laughed.

“I’ll make coffee, pumpkin.”

“Don’t call me pumpkin, jerk!”

He laughed some more, and she heard him talking to Jackson.

She moved sloth-like toward the bathroom and finally felt human again after a quick clean up in the bathroom. She put on a pair of her favorite skinny jeans that were so soft they felt like leggings, rolled them up a little at the bottom and then got out a bohemian flowy top to go with it. It was a bluish red color that highlighted her brown wavy hair. The keyhole at the collar showed off what cleavage she, which she knew could be more, but she wasn’t willing to go under the knife to get it. She grabbed her most comfortable wedges because she didn’t feel like looking like she’d woken up from a binge on mint chocolate chip ice cream, which she had, or the marathon of Game of Thrones she watched because she needed the violence to get her mind off romance. To finish off her look, she grabbed some bangle bracelets and lip gloss and called it done.

When she walked into the kitchen, she caught Merc and Jackson in the most romantic clutch and couldn’t help her envious thoughts. She shook her head to remind herself she’d decided the previous night, while downing more ice cream, she’d leave her lot up to destiny and asked, “So, what’s the plan? Where are we going?”

“We’re heading up the coast to check out a wine tour at a converted Monastery.”

“Well, that sounds fun. Wine, sun, monks.” She laughed.

“No monks, but definitely wine. We’re determined to get you out of your funk.”

“Okay, I’m ready.” She was unsure another outing would get her out of her funk, but she would let Merc and Jackson try.

When they got to the monastery, now called The Monk Monastery Winery, the beauty of the place floored her. The campus the monastery sat on was huge, the grounds were lush with flowers, and it was so peaceful she wanted to stay forever.

They walked into the main entrance, and the man at the front desk nodded and said for them to proceed to the right.

“Gorgeous.” She couldn’t stop looking around.

The architecture was right out of something you’d find in Spain. High ceilings like Club One, stone walls, gorgeous wood carvings and a stone floor that made her feel like she’d just stepped into another world. She took another step, and her foot landed wrong in her wedge. She heard Jackson call out and try to grab her hand, but it was too late. Ellie took a header right done a set of stairs grabbing the rail causing her ankle to twist in the wrong direction. Her last thought before her head hit the floor was at least in was only a set of three stairs.

Groaning filled her ears and then she figured out it was her pained voice she was hearing. She lifted her hand to feel her head and winced with the pain. Ellie noticed she wasn’t on the floor anymore and there was a floral scent that surrounded her. They must be near one of the pretty gardens. Christ her head hurt.

She shifted to sit up.

“Go slow, baby girl,” Merc said. Hands helped her sit up, but they weren’t Mercury’s or Jackson’s. And they weren’t the man’s she saw at the entrance.

“Ellie, are you okay?”

She turned slowly afraid she heard things that weren’t real because she hit her head so hard. The hands that had helped her sit up didn’t let go. They held her firm but gentle all at the same time.

“Sabrina.”

The woman from the bar.

Ellie blinked. Was she in a dream?

She looked at her friends. They didn’t say much, but watched her as she couldn’t form words. Ellie looked back at Sabrina.

“Hi, Ellie. Are you okay? You hit your head pretty hard.” Sabrina moved her hand off Ellie’s arm and gently touched the side of Ellie’s head. Her delicate fingers Ellie watched make drinks the night before made her skin tingle again as they danced across her temple.

“I’m, I’m fine,” she said with a nervous but giddy feeling in her stomach as she smiled so big it made her wince again. Ellie didn’t know what the universe was trying to tell her, but she sure as hell liked what had landed in her lap. Or should she say who’s lap she landed in.

Mercury and Jackson kept glancing over while they whispered to each other and smiled like the devil’s she knew they could be.

“What are you doing here?” Ellie asked.

“Second job,” Sabrina said and shrugged. “Why’d you disappear last night,” she said but too quickly closed her mouth and looked away. Where was the confident seductress she’d seen at the bar last night?

Ellie didn’t know what to say since she’d never been interested in a woman before, so she kept quiet.

Sabrina turned back to her, and that heat that Ellie had experienced at the club came rushing back. She could see the same flare go up in Sabrina too, but neither of them responded to the other. They both jumped as if guilty of something when Merc and Jackson came back over.

“You okay to still do the tour?” Merc asked her. Ellie nodded noting there wasn’t as much pain gripping her head anymore. “You hit your head, but you didn’t black out, so I don’t think we need to cart you off to the emergency room or anything.”

Jackson frowned at Merc, but Ellie reaffirmed she was okay.

“Okay then,” Sabrina said. “Come with me.” As she stood up, she took hold of Ellie’s arms and helped her up. They were so close front to front that if she leaned in just enough their lips would touch and she’d get the first taste of a woman she’d ever had. Her mind went to all kinds of places with the image and as their chests bumped they nearly fell onto the small settee that she’d evidently been laid out on after she fell. As they stumbled and then righted themselves, Ellie took a step back and smiled.

“Lead the way,” she said and motioned with her arm to Sabrina. Sabrina smiled at her and Ellie returned it with one of her own. Ellie was looking forward to the tour, and she had a feeling she was really, really going to like it.

Dancin’ at Shades

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Conrad Bastian pulled up and parked at Shade’s, the local gathering place and all he could think about was poppin’ a cap on a cold one. The engine clicked and pinged when he shut it off. He sat takin’ just a second to breathe and relax. Getting out his truck, a layer of dust clung to his skin. Worn and dirtied boots hit the gravel, and he pulled off his straw Stetson wiping his brow, the heat bordering on the doorstep of the devil’s den. Smacking the hat on his knee, he watched the dust of the day scatter on the wind taking with it some of the stress that lingered. A cold one sounded damn good to Conrad.

Blinking neon of Shades Bar greeted him, the closest thing the town of Mariette had for country dancing. If a ten-foot by ten-foot space could be considered a dance floor. Most everyone came for a beer and food, except for days like today, when folks came to mingle, catch-up or hook-up. To let off a little steam.

The menu was decent. Listed were great burgers made from homegrown cattle. Crowded as usual on a Friday night. The taps flowed with the best brews his small town had to offer and all the regular domestic beers that were American staples. He was partial to his friend’s stout. Con sat on a wooden stool, that was just vacated, at the bar and took his first breath of peace.

“Johnny,” he called over the din of Keith Urban and stomping feet. He lifted his hand to get the owner’s attention. Con smiled when Johnny, the owner and his best friend, bumbled a glass almost droppin’ it. “Can I get the Cast Iron Burger and a pint of the stout?”

The chin lift then a nod he got allowed Con to lean on the bar with his elbows and settle in for a while. With his hands on the back of his head and the much-needed time apart from his father, he was finally able to relax since the rooster sounded off that morning. Even with all the noise, the music blaring and the voices laughing or singing to the song on the jukebox he zoned out.

“How’s it going, man?”

Con sat up with a start. He took the beer from his friend taking his first swallow. “It’s going.”

“Bad day?”

“You could say that if every machine thinking it was time to take a break did so by breaking down. Yeah.” He took another swallow. “Of course, Dad thinking each was my fault added to a spectacular time.”

Johnny wiped the bar and then pulled a couple beers.

“Hey, Lydia,” Con said to the waitress when she brushed her hip against him.

“Hey, Con.” She smiled and her gaze ran over him.

He’d taken her to bed a few times. It was good. It scratched an itch as the saying went, but didn’t do much more.

“You dancing later, honey?” she asked.

“I might be.” He didn’t think he’d stay long enough for her to get off her shift. He was tired as hell, but he might consider it.

She smiled, and took the beers from Johnny and quickly delivered the drinks as Con looked on over his shoulder.

Johnny shook his head and smiled at the backside of his waitress with a more familiar glint in his eyes.

“You know that can’t end well. You haven’t seen her crazy like I have,” Johnny said.

Johnny had dated her for a while, but it hadn’t worked out. He didn’t talk about it much and never said what happened, but she was still at Shade’s waiting tables so it couldn’t have ended all that bad for him. He’d never been proprietary over a woman before and that included Lydia. It was the only reason Con had been with her. Otherwise, loyalty trumped having sex with your best friend’s girl.

“Were you able to fix any of them?”

“Huh?” Con said. “Oh yeah. Some. A couple others, I gotta order parts for. I don’t expect to see anything until next week, which brought on a shit storm once again from my dad.”

Johnny shook his head. Con had shared with Johnny most of what had been going on, so he’d heard just about everything when it came to Conrad’s dad.

“Not much I can do about him being an asshole these days.”

“That is a true statement.” Johnny tapped the bar and moved off to help a customer.

Conrad couldn’t blame his Dad. Ever since Con’s Ma died last year, his Dad had been swallowed up by grief. He blamed everything under the sun for his foul mood except the one thing that he clung to like it was his only source to keep living. He wouldn’t let the grief go. It was chewing him up and taking everyone around him with him.

The other bartender dropped off Con’s burger, and he practically ate it whole. The beer went down good too. He ordered another one and then left enough to cover the bill waving to Johnny. He got another chin lift and went in search of a corner booth where he could watch what progressed to be a very sexually charged night at Shades. Dancing wasn’t on his agenda, just watching. He didn’t have time for a woman. There was enough to do on the farm that kept him busy. His dad needed all the help he could get. As it was now the damn man had alienated almost every one of the hands and half the people in the county. But even though commitment wasn’t on the horizon, he sure as hell could do for a quick how-you-do with a beautiful, willing woman.

Searching Con saw a couple get up that seemed glued to one another, and Con sat down as they exited the bar. They looked like they would have a fine time that night as the man’s hand went to the woman’s ass, his finger’s gliding down close to something indecent as they skimmed just under the edge of her dress. Con smiled and tipped his hat a bit lower so he could watch what was happening on the dance floor without too much attention. Just watching the couple leave had him adjusting himself under the table. Skin to warm skin, making the woman shiver.

Con blew out a slow breath. Maybe he did need to find a willing woman. One for only tonight, though.

Lydia came over and gave him another beer, and he settled in. He saw a couple sweet little innocents go by, but neither captured his attention. He tried not to laugh when they smiled and thrust out their breasts, preening what God gave them for a man to consider.

A slow song came on, and the heat on the dance floor jumped another ten degrees as bodies got closer, hotter, and the liquor started unlocking doors to inhibitions. The scent of sweet feminine musk filled his nostrils as things began to get crazier and more wanton. Writhing hips, swaying arms joined the fray as women and men got closer, their bodies aligning to reach the full potential of what the public dance floor allowed. No line dancin’ at Shades. There wasn’t enough room. They pushed the limits of what was acceptable, and he enjoyed every minute of the show.

Another fast song came on, more women took to struttin’ by his table, but Con kept to himself.

When the front door opened a gust of hot, thick air brushed up against him all the way in back where he sat. When the door slammed shut something shifted inside him. He could feel it, the atmosphere growing more intense like he could feel this invisible wall up against his skin making him come alive, but he was the only one to notice. Searching for the disturbance, he kept his eyes shaded. It wasn’t like he had any super powers, he was an ordinary man. It was something he’d never felt before, and that was why his eyes zeroed in on that direction. He nearly choked on his beer.

Just standing inside the door was what he’d call the closest thing to ethereal. The lights were hitting the small woman in all the right places. And she had a lot of right places. She wasn’t the typical Mariette resident either. The sun had lightened up most people’s hair, the farming community one that was outdoors most days. Not this girl’s hair. It was black as onyx straight as woven silk with what seemed to be a magical sheen that reflected the light that flashed in the room. It was smooth looking and long brushing the cherry brown skin of her breasts, the thin shirt she wore not giving him much use for his imagination. Her bra was a dark silhouette holding her ample breasts in such a way they invited a man to lean in and lick, making her skin tingle until she trembled with need, before going any deeper to pleasin’ her. The skirt that hugged her hips showed off her long legs, or they seemed long since most of them were exposed. And the heels? He wanted to see her in those, and only those. He watched as her head swiveled to take in the room and she found what she was lookin’ for, and then she smiled.

“Sweet Lord,” he whispered. If the package God shaped her into weren’t enough for one man, her smile would kill a man with his eyes closed it was so bright. In awe of this woman the heat crawling up his neck, more to do with wantin’ her than the heat stirring from the dance floor, Con took a deep sip of his beer and shifted in his seat, the pressure behind his zipper gettin’ mighty uncomfortable.

There was no doubt there was something special about this woman. He wasn’t the only one watching her. With hooded eyes, he observed her move with a fluidity somehow more panther-like than human and continued in the direction of a female friend. Thank the stars it wasn’t a guy, or he’d have to kill him. Just the idea of bein’ with her, Con was close to embarrassing himself.

When she reached her friend, she brightened the room with another smile. Whoever she granted one must be someone special because it was so genuine and pleased, that there was no question that she would pay that person the attention they deserved. He needed something like that in his life.

Con needed to fill the ache that sat deep in his chest, the memory of his mother haunting him everywhere on the farm. He missed her. This woman would be a good distraction. Or was she the type to settle in for the long haul? No one-nighters?

He wanted to be near her, so he abandoned his table and made his way over trying to make it look like he was going to order a drink. Con took in every detail he could of the woman. He’d wait to make his move. Let her settle in before he took a turn at lady luck.

As Conrad watched her with her friends, she touched as often as she could, laughed with an exuberance that made him smile into his beer. She swayed with the music when it was a song she seemed to like.

A few guys approached, but she shook her head and focused back on her girls, while he tried to keep in a snarl.

He picked at his beer label confused by his possessiveness and steered his thoughts toward his mom and dad and what they had with each other. There were always smiles and small touches they shared. The heated looks that his father would give his mother were uncomfortable for him, but something special to both of his parents, he knew, because his mother shared little things with him about her relationship. Con could see it in his parent’s eyes when they didn’t know he was looking. He just wished his dad could get past his grief and hold onto the good memories. They would always be special.

She could be his something special, he thought. Now what made him think that? He looked down at the scarred bar confused by his thoughts. Was he ready to settle down? Make a home? Have children? He shivered. Those kinds of thoughts were a little too deep for a Friday night. Tonight, was supposed to be a good time, maybe a dance, and some kissin’. And if he was lucky a good time, that ended in a quick kiss and a quicker exit the next morning.

His eyes took him back up to her face to get some semblance of control. He sucked in a breath when her eyes glanced over and held locked onto his own. He stopped breathing. Lydia forgotten, this woman was indescribable up close and he wanted her. Con had to have her.

Not taking his eyes off her—which she didn’t do either—the song changed to Heatwave by Florida Georgia Line.

“Perfect.”

“I’m sorry, what?” She said a little louder since someone chose that instant to laugh so loud it covered up his words. Her friends giggled which it made even worse. Conrad chuckled himself. She lowered her eyes to his lips, and he tried not to groan. He didn’t want to scare her away since she turned down all the men that had already approached her.

Con didn’t repeat himself just said, “Dance with me,” without givin’ her time to think about it, he took her hand, from her other hand he took her drink and set it down, and moved onto the crowded dance floor. It forced their bodies together, closer than a first dance would allow. Conrad was good with that. He slid his hand to her lower back, her shirt riding up, so he was lucky enough to touch skin. It was soft against his rough, worn hands. Con took her small hand in his own, hugging her until the absence of space made him lean in more. Her eyes flared with heat, and he took that as a good sign. When his nose brushed her ear, he inhaled the scent of jasmine that lingered in her hair. He couldn’t hold back a groan. God, what was happening to him? Why was his reaction to her so thrilling? He felt desperate to keep her close.

Looking down at the petite woman in his arms, her brown eyes dilated and the flecks of amber caught by the light flared. He blinked and pinched his lips together worrying what she thought of him. Did the dirty layers of farming on his skin bother her? Her fingers went up and gently rubbed the crease between his eyebrows. Then she smiled again, and his heart fell into her eyes. The song ended, and there was a slight lull between songs.

“My name’s Conrad.” His arms tightened around her.

Her lashes flickered down and then back up as Conrad’s heart started racing double time. Would she pull away and leave him? If so, he would have to follow.

When she looked back up at him with another brilliant smile and licked her lips, he almost whimpered, his need for this woman was so great. But then she spoke, and it was like magic had come down to touch his soul.

“I’m, Willow,” She said, and then took his hand and pulled him along toward her friends gripping him so, their fingers entwined, making certain that they wouldn’t be separated.

Conrad wanted to laugh, and was glad he came in for a beer.

Hot Blacktop Preorders & other news

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It’s Finally Happening

Pre-orders – Be one of the first to talk about this hot story

Excitement’s a word that describes my mood the last few months. The reason, a couple of things have happened in the past year that has made this season, as I move into 2017, thrilling. I’ve reached a goal that I set at the end of last year. I’ll share that with you at the end of this post. Now let’s dive into what’s going to happen with my blog in the new year.

As my writing journey continues, I’ve decided to keep my bigger writing projects separate from the Deadwood Writers Voices. I know at the end of last month’s blog I said that the first chapter of Hot Turns, the sequel to Hot Blacktop, was scheduled to drop in January, but I’ve decided to keep that to myself until finishing the novel. With the monthly blog post, I want to be able to bring something fresh every month to my readers, and I’ve chosen to write new meet-cutes. If you recall, I did a blog post in April 2015 called Undressed where I defined, before the story started, a meet-cute. It will be interesting to see if I use any of these new characters’ first meetings in any of the new work. You never know.

Now, the major news! I am so excited to present…

Hot Blacktop

The only thing Sienna Appleton’s good at is making jewelry and being a loyal best friend, it’s not making her love life work when she knows she’s unlovable. Case in point, her most recent relationship disaster, finding her current boyfriend doing the mattress mambo with another woman. To get her out of her never- ending bad mood, her best friend demands a girl’s night out.

Focused on Paulson Speedway’s continued success, Stewart ‘Saint’ Paulson doesn’t have time to deal with a relationship he doesn’t even think he deserves. That is until he’s forced to dance with a tall, leggy blond that looks more likely to throw up on him than continue dancing. But after only a night of being with her, he’s convinced she’s the woman he’ll spend the rest of his life with, but only if he can convince her that she’s worth loving. The only problem is, trouble from Sienna’s past comes calling reminding her why she’s no good for him.

Will Sienna let Saint lead her into a better future or will her past tear them apart?

You can pre-order Hot Blacktop now for only $.99, on:

Amazon: http://amzn.to/2gFXZt9

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2fQvAPO

Nook: http://bit.ly/2g0R7pb

Hot Blacktop releases on January 10, 2017.