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It’s Giveaway time! Get a free bonus entry into our monthly raffle and check out The Rose Code: A Novel by Kate Quinn
It’s Giveaway time! Get a free bonus entry into our monthly raffle and check out The Rose Code: A Novel by Kate Quinn
Most people forget their dreams in the morning. “Boston” Hollinger must remember his to save his life. The Eyes of Others: A Watchtower Thriller (Watchtower Thrillers Book 1) by Mikael Carlson
Most people forget their dreams in the morning. “Boston” Hollinger must remember his to save his life. The Eyes of Others: A Watchtower Thriller (Watchtower Thrillers Book 1) by Mikael Carlson
A widowed advice columnist and an unwitting marquess connect through anonymous letters—but when scandal strikes, can they find love despite the truth? The Truth about the Marquess: A Clean Regency Romance (Whispers of the Ton Book 3) by Rose Pearson
A widowed advice columnist and an unwitting marquess connect through anonymous letters—but when scandal strikes, can they find love despite the truth? The Truth about the Marquess: A Clean Regency Romance (Whispers of the Ton Book 3) by Rose Pearson
In a flash, an EMP disables North America’s entire west coast. EMP: Staying Alive: An EMP Post Apocalypse Prepper Thriller Boxset by Colton Lively
In a flash, an EMP disables North America’s entire west coast. EMP: Staying Alive: An EMP Post Apocalypse Prepper Thriller Boxset by Colton Lively
It’s Giveaway time! Get a free bonus entry into our monthly raffle and check out The Final Cut (A Brit in the FBI, Book 1) by Catherine Coulter, J.T. Ellison
It’s Giveaway time! Get a free bonus entry into our monthly raffle and check out The Final Cut (A Brit in the FBI, Book 1) by Catherine Coulter, J.T. Ellison
Get this great deal on a 4-pack of floating shelves
Get this great deal on a 4-pack of floating shelves
The first cut is the deepest. Sweet Little Lies: a gripping psychological thriller with a killer twist by Leah Cupps
The first cut is the deepest. Sweet Little Lies: a gripping psychological thriller with a killer twist by Leah Cupps
A widowed advice columnist and an unwitting marquess connect through anonymous letters—but when scandal strikes, can they find love despite the truth? The Truth about the Marquess: A Clean Regency Romance (Whispers of the Ton Book 3) by Rose Pearson
A widowed advice columnist and an unwitting marquess connect through anonymous letters—but when scandal strikes, can they find love despite the truth? The Truth about the Marquess: A Clean Regency Romance (Whispers of the Ton Book 3) by Rose Pearson
It begins with a vicious murder—and gets darker from there…. Never Tell: A Novel (D.D. Warren Book 10) by #1 New York Times bestseller Lisa Gardner
It begins with a vicious murder—and gets darker from there…. Never Tell: A Novel (D.D. Warren Book 10) by #1 New York Times bestseller Lisa Gardner
It’s Giveaway time! Get a free bonus entry into our monthly raffle and check out Might As Well Be Dead (A Nero Wolfe Mystery Book 27) by Rex Stout
It’s Giveaway time! Get a free bonus entry into our monthly raffle and check out Might As Well Be Dead (A Nero Wolfe Mystery Book 27) by Rex Stout
Two siblings rescue their uncle when he mysteriously turns into a Jack-in-the-box… Attack of the Jack! (Goosebumps SlappyWorld Book 2) by R.L. Stine
Two siblings rescue their uncle when he mysteriously turns into a Jack-in-the-box… Attack of the Jack! (Goosebumps SlappyWorld Book 2) by R.L. Stine
Your next journey could be your last… Will to Live: A page-turning serial killer thriller (Detective Kay Hunter Book 2) by Rachel Amphlett
Your next journey could be your last… Will to Live: A page-turning serial killer thriller (Detective Kay Hunter Book 2) by Rachel Amphlett
And for the next week all of these great reading choices are sponsored by our Brand New Romance of the Week, Undercover Secrets, so please check it out!
Nobody knows the “underground” AKA the Mafia better than Giovanni Gambino, as he teams up with Rita Gambino the mixing of Non-fiction with Fiction makes this book a super novel. The story starts with undercover agent Nikki Jacobs is assigned to notorious mafia boss, Luca Marchisio. She quickly becomes intrigued of his power, attractive looks and his magnetic character. With her continual contact with the organized crime and unable to resist Luca’s ability to control, Nikki finds sympathy with those being targeted. Little does she know that gaining the trust of Luca and living the double life will result in discovering dark secrets and a big Federal conspiracy!
5 Star Reviews From Amazon
“Great story about crime families and love. I loved the main character’s strong personality and how she discovers true love beneath the surface…ending was awesome!!”
“I loved this book, it had everything that I look for in a book Romance, Comedy and most of all a TERRIFIC ending. I can definitely see this book come to life in theaters.”
Derek Rory never meant to propose to his best friend’s little sister. But when her boss tells a family-oriented investor he’s Stephanie’s fiancé, Derek can either play along or let her get fired. He’s hardly one to turn away from a damsel in distress. If only that damsel wasn’t adorable and sexy with a laugh that could melt any cold business mogul’s heart.When a business proposal becomes a marriage proposal, Stephanie Miller tries to keep it strictly boardroom. But when things get hot under the table, it’s all they can do to stay apart. As the tangle of lies drags them deeper into the underhanded world of business politics, Stephanie finds herself in over her head—not just with her job, but with her “fiancé.” His eyes are cold, but his kisses light her on fire. If she’s not careful, she’ll end up faking her way into a real romance.
One 5-Star Amazon Reviewer Notes
“Faking It was the perfect feel good romance that had me smiling and giggling to myself all the way though. Stephanie and Derek have fantastic chemistry and this is definitely a case of opposites attract. What I liked most was the way Stephanie helps to bring Derek out of his shell though, she helps him be the man he always wanted to be and that made my heart melt. I also have to confess to developing a huge crush on Stephanie’s brother Aaron, I can’t tell you how excited I was when the author confirmed via twitter that she will be writing his story! This is a series I can’t wait to continue and I can’t recommend Faking It highly enough to contemporary romance fans.”
About The Author
Diane Alberts has always been a dreamer with a vivid imagination, but it wasn’t until 2011 that she put her pen where her brain was, and became a published author. Since receiving her first contract offer, she has yet to stop writing. Though she lives in the mountains, she really wishes she was surrounded by a hot, sunny beach with crystal clear water. She lives in Northeast Pennsylvania with her four kids, a husband, a cat, and a Senegal parrot. In the rare moments when she’s not writing, she can usually be found hunched over one knitting project or another.
She is a multi-published, bestselling author with Entangled Publishing, Swoon Romance, and Decadent Publishing. She has, as of this date, four books with Entangled Publishing, one book with Swoon Romance, and five older books with Decadent Publishing. Her February release with Entangled Publishing, ON ONE CONDITION, hit #18 on the Barnes and Noble Bestseller List, and TRY ME hit #76 on Amazon. Her Swoon Romance novella, CAPTIVATED BY YOU, hit #31 on the Barnes and Noble bestseller list. Her goal is to write so many fantastic books that even a non-romance book fan will know her name. Diane is represented by Louise Fury from the L. Perkins Agency.
NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER: As with any Veronica Blade book, this is a ROMANCE NOVEL, meaning it’s romance FIRST and everything else is secondary. Rated PG-13 for sexual situations and mild profanity.
Different species. Mortal enemies. It’ll never work, but they’ll die trying.
Autumn Rossi thought she was a normal teenager. Suddenly, she can outrun every critter in the forest, making her wonder if she’s even human.
When the new guy at school, Zack de Luca, witnesses a questionable scene, he unfairly pins her as stuck-up. He acts like he hates her, yet he keeps bailing her out of trouble. Not only is Zack both insufferable and irresistible, he seems to sniff her anytime he gets close.
As passion flares between them, Autumn isn’t sure which is more dangerous: her psycho ex-boyfriend, or falling for Zack — who’s risking his life just by being near her.
Book Trailer:
And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:
CHAPTER ONE
Scooping up my backpack, I abandoned my geriatric car and forged through the double doors of the school. The patter of my sandals echoed through the hallway as I smiled at a group of classmates passing by.
My nose detected the bathroom before my eyes did, filling with the smell of disinfectant and… paint? Whatever. I’d take the toxic fumes over my former home school days, where my parents had kept me trapped without a social life.
Inside the empty restroom, I rummaged through my backpack for my makeup bag. I set it on the edge of the sink, then surveyed the damage. At least I’d had time to do my hair before I’d stormed out of the house. Long, dark brown hair cascaded over my shoulders in thick waves. My face was a different story though. Evidence of sleep deprivation circled my eyes and my normally olive skin was pale.
As I stared at my reflection, I wondered how to handle my very dead car without involving my mom or dad. After the bomb they’d dropped last night — that we’d be moving again in just a few weeks — I didn’t want to speak to either of them. I mean, what kind of parents uproot their kid two to three times a year? There had to be a way to convince them to stay a few weeks more, until I turned eighteen. Then I could make my own choices.
The restroom door swung open behind me, letting in the dull roar of voices and banging lockers, and a younger girl disappeared into a stall. Was it time for my first class already? I checked the time on my cell and realized I’d been holding the mascara brush for several minutes, yet my lashes were still naked. Crap.
I tossed the makeup bag into my backpack, slung it over my shoulder and whipped open the door. Barreling out of the bathroom, I slammed into what felt like a walking boulder. I ricocheted off the human rock and my backpack hit the wall behind me, throwing me off balance and pitching me forward into the hard, linoleum tile.
My palms cushioned my fall, but I winced as pain spiked up my wrists. On all fours, I lifted my chin and peeked through my curtain of dark hair.
He wore a black tee that molded to his wide, muscular shoulders and jeans that fit over powerful legs. Wow. I’d thought my soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend was cute, but this guy…
“You okay?” the hottie asked in a sexy, gravelly voice, stretching a hand toward me. His hand wrapped around mine and effortlessly pulled me up, as if I weighed no more than my calculus book. Maybe it was the throbbing in my limbs or the warmth of his hands on my elbows. Or maybe it was his earthy scent invading my senses, but a wave of dizziness hit me and I tipped forward.
His hands shot to my hips to steady me. “Easy there.”
I stared into his deep, green eyes as my palms rested on his hard biceps for support. Lord, he smelled good, like the forest after rain.
My breath hitched.
The scuffling of feet and rustling clothes seemed quieter than it should’ve been. I glanced over my shoulder to see what was up. Nearly everyone in the hallway had their eyes fixed on me. No doubt, most of them had witnessed me doing the Humpty-Dumpty and, by the end of the day, the incident would be all over school. Probably even caught on video and uploaded to YouTube, me with no makeup and totally un-cute. Ugh.
Hot Guy may have been standing right in front of the bathroom in my way, but I shouldn’t have been speeding. I opened my mouth to apologize when I recognized Daniel’s voice.
“That’s my girl you’re touching, freak.” Daniel sneered, flicked his long, dirty-blond hair over his shoulder and clamped onto my wrist. “Hands off.”
Hot Guy nudged me aside and stepped forward until he almost butted chests with Daniel. “You need to learn some manners.”
“Oh, yeah? You gonna try to teach me, girly boy?”
Though I knew Daniel was acting like an idiot, the school gossip mill didn’t need any more material on me today. I was more than finished with Daniel, but I didn’t necessarily want him to get a public smack-down — even though he probably deserved it. Wedging myself between them, I twisted to meet Daniel’s gaze. “Let’s just go.”
“Good idea.” Daniel gave Hot Guy another scalding look before grabbing my hand and jerking me away. I breathed a sigh of relief that I wouldn’t have to referee a brawl.
“Ass hat,” Hot Guy muttered.
Daniel kept walking, practically dragging me along. He couldn’t have heard the insult or he would’ve stopped and turned on Hot Guy. But I had heard it so clearly. Weird.
“Hang on and I’ll walk you to class.” Daniel paused at his locker and spun the combination lock.
“Sure,” I said absently. I glanced over my shoulder to Hot Guy, who was leaning against a locker fiddling with his cell phone. The least I could do was give him an apologetic smile and mime, “Sorry.”
I didn’t get a chance. His gaze met mine, his mouth twisting as he raised one brow. Okay, so this wasn’t going to be an easy fix. Hot Guy seemed too old to be in high school anyway. Probably a college student dropping off his younger sibling, which meant I’d never see him again.
I wanted to keep staring at his perfectly sculpted nose, angular cheekbones and deep brown hair that fell haphazardly over his forehead, but he spun and strolled off in the opposite direction. A tug of my hand drew my focus back to my future ex-boyfriend.
“Hold up,” I said. The warning bell sounded, but I barely heard it as I yanked my hand from his. “Why’d you have to act like such a psycho?”
Daniel shrugged, as though the answer was obvious. “He was touching you.”
I laughed. “Seriously?”
“You’re mine, Autumn. No other guy can ever touch you again.” He said it like he couldn’t believe I’d even question him.
“I’m no one’s property,” I hissed. “Besides, I tripped and he was just helping me up.”
“Why are you defending that loser?” His voice rose and his face flushed.
My hands balled into fists. “Because I don’t like how you treat people.”
“What are you talking about?” He gave me a look that said it all — I was insane. I opened my mouth to start in on him, but his eyes swept the corridor before he said, “We’re gonna be late for class.”
Daniel was right. The hall was deserted. A stream of mild curses spewed from my mouth as I sprinted to homeroom with only seconds to spare.
† † †
Just before lunch, I scribbled notes in my textbook and tried to concentrate on the current assignment, but my mind drifted to Hot Guy. Why had I heard his insult when Daniel obviously hadn’t?
The bell rang and I gathered my books and headed to the cafeteria. As soon as I entered the corridor, I caught a whiff of cinnamon and orange. John’s signature scent, since he always chewed this weird gum. I glanced around, expecting him to be right next to me.
A moment later, John stood beside me and that same cinnamon-orange scent heightened. But why had I smelled it before he even got there?
“Hey.” I flashed him a smile.
Daniel and my friend Gina didn’t talk to super-geeks like John. I did though, ever since a few weeks ago when I’d watched him get between little Benny Frampton and two big jocks.
To avoid witnessing carnage, I’d rushed over and flirted with the bullies. John took his cue and got the kid out of their way. Ever since then, I never treated John like a nerd, no matter how much Daniel and Gina protested my friendship with him. To me, he was Brave John, my friend.
“Heard what happened this morning,” John said as he fell into step with me, “but I see you’re still in one piece.”
Ah, the gossip mill running fast, as usual. “Yeah. Good as new,” I said, marveling at how my hands and knees weren’t sore at all. First the amazing hearing, then the super-human sense of smell and now the lack of bruises. Weird. Was I sick or something?
“So you want to see a movie tomorrow?” he asked. “I bet Maya would come.”
My jeans vibrated. I stopped to juggle books to my other arm and reached into my pocket to read the text. It was from my mom. Coming home directly after school, sweetheart?
I groaned, answered the text and shoved the phone back in my pocket. “Unfortunately, I can’t go anywhere this weekend.”
“Oh.” He nodded slowly, frowning. “Grounded again?”
“Yep.”
“How much do you owe this time?”
As we passed other students along the hallway, I flicked the lapel of my new leather jacket and wagged a finger toward my jeans. “These weren’t cheap. I think my latest shopping euphoria gave me amnesia that I still owed my parents.”
When they gave me an advance, it had to be paid back before leaving the house the following weekend. That was the rule. Paying my debts and keeping my agreements was supposed to teach me discipline. Why couldn’t they just hand over an allowance, with no strings attached, like other parents?
“Wait.” John took hold of my arm, stopping me in my tracks. “Have you told Daniel yet? He won’t be too thrilled about his girlfriend ditching his party.”
Daniel had exercised astounding patience over my parents’ rigid rules and nine pm curfews, but missing his party? He’d probably dump me… which would save me the trouble of breaking up with him.
“True.” I landed a playful punch on John’s bicep as an arm wrapped around my waist, spinning me around and pulling me against a firm chest.
“Hi, babe,” Daniel said. Always on the alert with him now, I flattened my palms against his stomach, ready to shove him away.
When we’d first started dating a couple of months ago, Daniel did the sweetest things, like bring me daisies stolen from his mom’s garden. He’d won me over all the way the day he’d changed my flat tire. But in the last few days, Daniel had gone from loving and considerate to demanding and offensive. Worse, he’d become hard of hearing when it came to the word “no,” and I wasn’t in the mood to fend off his pawing. I was so over him, no matter how uber-popular he was.
“Hey, Daniel,” John said.
Daniel ignored him. John rolled his eyes, then ambled away.
“You could try being nice,” I said, moving out of Daniel’s grasp. I wanted to end it with him right then, but a hallway swarming with people wasn’t the best place. “What’d John ever do to you?”
Daniel snorted. “He annoys me. I don’t know why you give that dork the time of day. C’mon, let’s eat.”
Dork or not, eating with John and my other best friend, Maya, sounded like much more fun. But Gina still needed to know I couldn’t go with her to Daniel’s party. An A-lister like her wouldn’t have a problem finding someone else, but she’d probably blow the whole thing out of proportion anyway. Maybe she’d even dump me.
Gina had been my first friend at Verdugo Hills Academy and introduced me to the cool people. She always had my back. At first, hanging with school royalty had been exciting, but being popular wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. It took me three months with Gina to realize I preferred Maya and John, people who were easy to be around.
Daniel led me to the lunchroom and, after collecting some food, we settled next to each other at our usual table. Gina had beaten us there, stunning in a pink sleeveless blouse with ruffles for straps. Her short, auburn hair had been blown straight, bringing out the natural red highlights. As always, her makeup was flawless, just like her heart-shaped face.
Which reminded me that I still wasn’t wearing any makeup.
Her friend Natalie, who’d never warmed up to me, huddled with her. Natalie had potential beauty, but her ever-present scowl and matching mood always overpowered those piercing hazel eyes and short cap of black, curly hair.
Gina stopped talking mid-sentence and turned to us with a grin. “Hey, guys.”
“I’ll see you later,” Natalie told her, rising from the bench. She wrinkled her nose at me, then left. I knew Natalie was just jealous that Gina hung out with me more, but knowing Natalie’s reasons didn’t make her any less irritating. Thankfully, once I showed up, she didn’t usually stick around long.
I returned Gina’s smile, but it faltered in anticipation of her reaction to my house arrest. “How’s it going?”
“Babe, I’ll be back.” Daniel’s beefy hand darted out for the sandwich on his tray, then he left without waiting for a reply. Relieved to have him gone, I watched him join a couple of his friends.
“God, who died?” Gina asked.
“What do you mean?” Oh, crap, was my reluctance to confess that obvious?
“Look at you.” She quirked a brow. “You’re so junior high without makeup.”
“Oh, yeah.” I lifted one shoulder. “Ran short on time this morning.”
Maya appeared at our table, looking amazing even holding a plastic food tray. She was a guy’s embodiment of perfection with her long, wavy blond hair and voluptuous body. She occasionally complained how hard it was to find a bra that fit around her narrow ribcage, but could still hold all she had to offer. Like all that cleavage was such a burden. Poor thing.
“Hey, Autumn.” Maya turned to Gina, her tone going flat. “Hi.”
“Nice shirt.” Gina smiled sweetly. “How generous of your brother to go through his clothes for you.”
My mouth dropped open. Gina had never been nice to Maya, but she usually limited their interaction to giving her the cold shoulder. “Gina, what the hell?” I demanded.
“Holy Underwear Model.” Gina’s gaze riveted to her right. “Who’s the hottie sitting with Trevor?”
Following the path of her gaze, I froze. The din of voices, the distant clanging of trays and the smell of grease faded away when I recognized the guy with the dark hair and green eyes I’d gotten lost in.
My stomach dipped.
CHAPTER TWO
Maya glanced behind her. “That’s Zack De Luca.”
“And?” Gina prompted.
“Trevor’s cousin.” Maya laid her tray on the table, but remained standing.
As if he could feel me staring at him, Zack turned his gaze on me. I gave him a welcoming smile, hoping he’d forget I’d bulldozed into him earlier and how my dickhead boyfriend had behaved. No such luck. He narrowed his eyes and shook his head.
I instantly deflated. “What’s his deal?”
“Zack just enrolled. He’s been visiting weekends and summers for years, but now he’s here for good.”
Maya had crushed on Trevor since grade school and knew everything about him and, it seemed, his relatives. I couldn’t understand why she and Trevor hadn’t already hooked up.
“Did he fail a couple grades? He looks old enough to be in college.” I surreptitiously checked out the boys again, while I broke off a piece of my grilled cheese sandwich. Trevor’s hair was a little lighter and his features less angular, but both guys excelled in the cute department. Zack more so.
“Almost the same age as Trevor. He’s a senior like us,” Maya said, glancing back at them. “Though he’s grown about a foot and bulked up since I saw him last.”
“Steroids?” I asked.
Maya laughed. “He’s always looked older than Trevor.”
“He could have that aging disease,” I offered.
Gina still hadn’t taken her eyes off him. “Who cares? He’s smokin’ hot. You can practically see his six-pack through his T-shirt.”
Maya rolled her eyes as if Gina were insane to prefer Zack over Trevor. “I could find out more about him, if you want me to.”
Gina turned to Maya with a sneer. “You’re such a stalker.”
“Whatever, Gina. It’s called being nice,” Maya said through gritted teeth. “Something you don’t have a lot of experience with.”
Gina made a face at Maya, then focused on me. “You’ve been hogging the cutest guy in school for weeks. If Zack fell madly in love with me, the hottest guy would be mine. Compared to him, Daniel looks like he’s got chromosome issues.”
Even if I still liked Daniel, I couldn’t be offended at the absolute truth. Everything about Zack was exactly right. As if feeling my gaze, he turned sharply in my direction again. My dad once wore the same expression when he discovered the decaying remains of a cat under our house.
My cheeks heated and I dropped my gaze to pluck a potato chip from my plate.
Maya moved next to me for a better view of the guys. “Must be awkward starting a new school when the year is almost over.”
Before I could stop myself, my eyes found their way back to Zack.
“Not when you’re that hot. He’ll be just fine.” Gina’s fork banged onto the plastic tray when she tossed it and stood. “Time to introduce myself.”
As I watched Zack, the hair on the back of my neck stood at attention. There was something different about him… almost feral. I wanted to caution Gina, but she’d probably call me paranoid.
Gina sashayed over to Zack, coyly twisting her hair around a finger. Trevor got up, leaving them alone. I eyed them under my lashes as Gina said something. Zack chuckled and she laughed.
At that moment, I hated them both — him for making me feel like week-old garbage and Gina for making him smile when all I got was a scowl. To distract myself, I picked up my sandwich and concentrated on Maya.
“Gina’s in rare form today.” The soda can hissed as Maya popped the top, her gaze straying back to Trevor. He looked away when their eyes met.
“Yeah, sorry about that. I don’t know what’s up with her.” I let my hair fall forward to hide my face as I snuck a peek at Trevor, who was staring at Maya again. “You should talk to Trevor. I really think he likes you.”
Her eyes cut to mine. “How could a guy be interested in anyone else when you’re around?”
“What?” My mouth dropped open.
“C’mon, Autumn,” she said, but there wasn’t any bitterness in her voice. More like she’d accepted her fate. “You have perfect olive skin that never gets a zit and never needs a tan, you’re tall and thin and I’d kill for all that glorious, black hair.”
I eyed the locks cascading over my shoulder. “Dark brown, actually. Boring. And besides, Trevor keeps staring at you, not me. I bet he’d go for it if you asked.”
She rolled her eyes and flicked a thumb at Zack. “He seems nice.”
Obviously, Maya hadn’t noticed him scowling at me. “I wouldn’t know.” I focused on my tray, tracing little circles with my index finger. Hopefully, she’d drop the subject.
“On the way here, I saw him talking to some of the math geeks in the hallway. It’s like he’s not too full of himself to be seen with the unpopular kids. Can’t say that about Gina or Daniel.” Maya slid her sandwich out of the baggie. “John told me you’re grounded.”
My gaze shot to Gina’s hand resting on Zack’s forearm. She certainly moved quickly. “Yeah, but I haven’t told Gina yet, so don’t say anything, okay?”
“You want me to come over Saturday night and keep you company?”
“You’re not going to Daniel’s party?”
“Are you kidding?” She grimaced and waved a hand. “His last party was a drunken hook-up fest. I’d rather have a girl’s night with you. Do our toes, rent a movie.”
“Sounds awesome.” The ick factor that had slowly built all morning fell away. What would I do without Maya? Oh, God, if my parents followed through with their plans, I’d find out soon enough. As if on cue, my phone vibrated.
“Wow, your parents just don’t let up.”
“I know,” I said, answering my mom’s text with what I wanted for dinner. She couldn’t have asked me this morning? I theorized making me reply throughout the day was just another way of keeping tabs on me. I pressed the send button and focused on Maya again. “Uhm…”
She eyed me with a frown. “What’s wrong?”
I took a deep breath and pushed away the threatening anxiety. “We’re moving again.”
Her face fell. “When?”
“Not sure. Before graduation, most likely.” I pressed my lips together at the thought of leaving our pretty little home in the foothills north of Los Angeles. But it wasn’t just that I liked the house and the city. I’d live in a hut if it meant I could grow roots. I hadn’t known Maya long, but I’d become closer to her and John than any friends before. “I can’t bear the thought of moving again and leaving you guys.”
“Then stay with me. My mom and dad would love that. They’re so not over my brother going away to college.”
Live with Maya? For a second, I fantasized about taking a class or two at the local college. But even if her parents said yes, I couldn’t mooch off them forever. Eventually, I’d have to get a job to pay for food and somewhere to live. I had a lot to do before striking out on my own, starting with earning money for a new car before the old one choked out its last sputter. The way it died in the parking lot this morning, that last sputter could be sooner than I expected.
Butterflies did a march in my stomach, but I forced a smile. “That’s something to think about. Thanks.”
Gina sauntered back to our table and reclaimed her seat. “He has a girlfriend.” She didn’t seem too broken up about it though.
“Bummer for you.” I bit into my sandwich, trying not to imagine Zack with a girlfriend, his deep green eyes gazing into hers, his full lips… My attraction to him was ridiculous considering how he scowled at me.
“Maybe, maybe not.” Gina snuck another peek at him.
I hurriedly swallowed to talk. “You can’t go after someone else’s boyfriend.”
“I won’t need to.” She gave a half laugh. “People break up all the time. And I doubt she’s prettier than me.”
“There’s always someone prettier, Gina.” Maya rolled her eyes. “Besides, some people care more about substance than appearance.”
“Only the average girls say things like that.” Gina’s cold stare would have come in handy during last summer’s heat wave.
“What’s the matter with you?” I asked. Her bitchiness had reached new heights.
Maya picked up her tray. “I’ll catch you later, Autumn.”
I gave Maya an apologetic look, then turned and glared. “Gina!”
“What?” She gave me her innocent face.
“You make no effort with her.”
Her face scrunched up as if I’d suggested she spend the night locked in a room full of roaches. “Why would I want to do that?”
“Because she’s my friend? Same reason I try to be nice to Natalie.” I lifted my brows expectantly.
“Oh, my God!” She giggled. “You should see the dress she bought for Daniel’s party. Wicked. But mine is sexier. You and I will be the hottest girls there, easy.”
Knowing it was a losing battle, I sighed. “Uh, speaking of Daniel’s party, remember our last couple shopping sprees?”
“Sure.” Gina scanned the room, probably hunting for Zack, but I steeled myself to stay tuned to Gina. If Zack caught me staring again, I’d look stalker-ish. Or, even worse, desperate.
I hesitated, my teeth holding my bottom lip hostage. “That money I spent with you? I borrowed it from my parents, planning to work it off during the week.”
“Yeah, so?” She brushed her auburn hair off her shoulder, then stiffened, her eyes fixing on me and narrowing. “Don’t even tell me you’re grounded.”
“I’m sorry, Gina. I—”
“We’ve been planning this for two months.” Her nostrils flared, lips tightening. “I can’t believe you did this to me.”
I sighed. “You act like you have no one else to go with. What about Natalie?” Yes, I’d broken my word, but her attitude was over the top. “And at least you get to go to the party. I’ll be stuck at home with my parents. I’m not any happier about this than you.”
“Whatever.” She crumpled her napkin, tossed it on the table, then stomped off.
Now I was free to spend the rest of lunch with Maya. But beyond Gina’s retreating back, John and Maya stood with Zack, who seemed engrossed in something she’d said. Just great. Seemed like I was the only one at school he didn’t like.
As if knowing I was watching, he turned. I silently cursed for getting caught staring, yet couldn’t take my eyes off him. After a long moment, he returned his attention to my friends.
Was it extra noisy in the cafeteria today or just my imagination? Whatever. I took my tray to the trash bin, knowing the warning bell would ring soon.
Daniel waved at me from across the cafeteria and mouthed, “See you later.”
I hoped not. Except I still needed to break up with him.
Gina approached Daniel and his posse. Zack still chatted with John and Maya — which made both groups off limits. Damn.
If I had superhuman powers, I’d turn invisible right then. And no one would’ve noticed.
I headed to English Lit. Alone.
My phone vibrated and I sighed, reaching into my pocket. It was my mom again, reminding me I was grounded and offering to let Maya stay over. Knowing she’d keep texting me if I didn’t answer her right away, I stopped to type in my thanks, then I continued down the corridor. Thankfully, my mom knew I wasn’t allowed to text during class, which gave me a reprieve.
Seeing the restroom, I darted inside to finally put on some makeup, since I had a little time to spare. A few minutes later, feeling cute for the first time all day, I rushed into the crowded classroom and claimed my usual spot.
Oh, goody, Zack was in that class and he’d taken a seat two rows over to my left. He was facing the front of the class as though I didn’t exist. I inwardly groaned, then flipped my hair over to form a wall between us. Peering between the dark strands, I eyed him on the sly. I only got his profile, but that and his muscular shoulders were plenty satisfying.
Once class began, I tried to forget Zack was a few seats away, but I couldn’t. His presence added an awkward tension I could live without. And we had a pop quiz to brighten my day — which I hadn’t prepared for.
On the upside, my day probably couldn’t get any worse.
† † †
When the final bell rang at the end of last class, I gathered my books and bailed.
Seeing Gina in the corridor ahead of me, I hoped she’d ignore me. Luckily, she kept a brisk pace and didn’t look back. Closer to the exit, she slowed until she stood in front of Zack. He smiled at her and listened attentively. After scribbling on a piece of paper, she handed it to him, then walked backward grinning. He mouthed, “I’ll call you.”
Flirting when he had a girlfriend. Yuck.
I continued on toward the parking lot, passing them. A moment later, I sensed Zack behind me, but didn’t turn around to confirm it, since he might think I was keeping tabs on him. Just before the curb on the way to my car, Ashley waved me over.
Gina didn’t approve of being friendly to juniors, but I liked Ashley. She was one of those people who didn’t make you wonder where you stood.
“Hey, Autumn.” She gave me a shy smile. “I’m having some people over on Saturday night and thought you might like to come.”
I couldn’t go to any party, much less blow off Gina for someone else. Wait… throwing a party on the same night as Daniel? I couldn’t imagine her competing with the most popular guy at school on purpose. She wanted a good turnout, right? I frowned. “Uhm, this Saturday is Daniel’s party.”
“Oh,” she said in a small voice. “I thought it was next weekend.” Ashley’s gaze dropped to her feet, her bottom lip jutting into a pout before wandering off. Poor Ashley.
I turned in a circle to scan the crowd, searching for Daniel, who usually met me at my car. I couldn’t wait to say my piece and finally be free of him. Instead, I saw Zack sitting on a wall about three feet away. Except for his narrowed eyes, his face was a mask as he stared at me.
Over the sound of skateboard wheels banging against the sidewalk, honks signaling rides to potential passengers and car doors slamming, I heard Zack scoff.
“What a piece of work,” he whispered to himself, his eyes still glued to me.
I shouldn’t have been able to hear him over the noise, right? But his words had been so clear. Wait… had he heard me too? I paused a moment to replay my conversation with Ashley and cringed. I’d sounded kind of snobby. Yeah, as if that was going to make Zack think any better of me.
Whatever. He wasn’t going to give me a chance anyway and why should I care what he thought? I just hoped Ashley hadn’t taken it the wrong way, too. I scanned the parking lot, just in time to see her drive away with her mom. I’d have to fix it with her later.
I spun around, headed to my car and shoved my backpack through the window. I didn’t know where Daniel was or how long he’d be, but if I didn’t text my mom soon, she’d probably show up. I hated it when she did that. I hit the buttons of my cell saying I was hanging out with Daniel for a few minutes, but would be on my way soon.
Leaning against the door, I waved at John and Maya as they cruised by.
Daniel’s dirty-blond head and beefy body suddenly blocked my view. “Hey, babe.”
“Hi.” I gave him a weak smile, not looking forward to a confrontation. After what he’d said earlier about no one ever touching me again, he probably wouldn’t let me go easily. I could totally pass on the inevitable drama.
“I’m grounded,” I blurted out. “I can’t go to your party.”
His face fell. “Oh. I had plans for us.”
I didn’t even want to know what those plans were. “Yeah, about that. Uh, we need to talk.”
“Daniel!” a guy shouted from across the lot.
“Gotta go.” He gave me a quick kiss without giving me a chance to evade it, then took off.
Damn. I was still officially stuck to him. Resigned, I nudged my backpack over and settled in the driver’s seat of my ancient sedan. I turned the key in the ignition, then cursed under my breath. Today had sucked so much, I’d forgotten all about my car needing resuscitation.
John and Maya had already left. I could call one of them back to get me, but John depended on rides from someone else and Maya wouldn’t have time to come back, drop me off and still make it home in time to babysit her little brother.
Unless I could get my car to start, my only choice would be to call my mom or dad for a ride. Taking a deep breath and crossing my fingers, I waited a moment, then turned the key again.
Silence.
A head appeared in my window and I jumped. Realizing it was Zack and not a serial killer, my muscles relaxed a little. I gazed at him, mesmerized by his deep, green eyes.
The corners of his mouth twitched. “Car trouble?”
CHAPTER THREE
Apparently, Zack shared his smiles with everyone except me.
“Yeah.” I teeter-tottered between being embarrassed for being seen by him in my dilapidated car, and fear that he couldn’t or wouldn’t save me. “Car won’t start.”
Zack blew out a breath, then motioned to the hood of the car. When I didn’t move, he stared at the sky for a moment before saying, “Release the hood, so I can check it out.”
He’d spoken slowly, like I had a learning disability. Heat rushed into my cheeks. I reached around my knees where the lever should’ve been, but my hand came up empty. Where was it? I’d found it before. If I just had another minute…
“Move and I’ll do it.”
I scrambled out, bumping shoulders with him as I squeezed past. Wow, the guy was all muscle. I cursed the butterflies fluttering like crazy in my stomach, vowing not to get a crush on a guy who had such a low opinion of me.
Zack immediately found the release, then propped up the hood. I darted around to the front to see what he’d do. The engine looked like grease-covered metal. It could’ve been a time machine and I wouldn’t have known the difference.
“So what do you think?” I asked.
“If I knew…” he paused to eye me from under his brows, “I’d already be fixing it and one step closer to being gone.”
I gritted my teeth. “If you’re going to be a jerk about it, why bother helping me at all?”
“Because my mom raised me right.” His gaze fell on my mouth and, for an instant, his eyes darkened. Just when I thought we were having a moment, his lips thinned as he met my eyes. “If you prefer, I could leave.”
“That would make you even more of a douche,” I said, sticking a hand on my hip and praying he’d stay.
The corner of his mouth quirked and he resumed scrutinizing the engine.
I breathed a sigh of relief, but I didn’t want to press my luck. To keep myself occupied, I counted the flattened gum spots in the asphalt while listening to his occasional mutters. What I really wanted to do was get a closer look at the seat of his pants, but I didn’t want to get caught ogling him. Again.
“Rear passenger side tire is a little low,” he said, almost like he was talking to my car. “You should stop and get some air soon.”
“Okay, thanks.” Sure, he’d been rude before, but he didn’t have to stop to help me and he could’ve let my tire go completely flat. Maybe he was finally warming up to me. My insides turned to jelly at the thought. I sidled up next to him and leaned over to peer at the engine. “So… you know a lot about cars?”
Except for his eyes that studied the engine as if mentally taking it apart, Zack didn’t move a muscle or even glance my way. “I know enough.”
That didn’t curb my curiosity. “Where’d you learn? Your dad teach you?”
“No.”
Several seconds passed and he didn’t say anything more. So much for making conversation. Considering how little he apparently thought of me, what had I expected? Maybe he’d lighten up if I apologized for bumping into him and told him I was dumping Daniel. I opened my mouth to speak, but Zack beat me to it.
“See the way the clamp isn’t connecting to the battery?” He pointed at a big, rectangular thing.
Grateful for the break in his silence, I studied the box. “The vibrations wiggled it free?”
“That would be my guess.” He flashed me a grin and nudged me with his elbow. My insides warmed. “Maybe under all that hair and spiffy clothes is a car geek just itching to bust free,” he said.
That was probably as close to a compliment as I was going to get from Zack. I returned his smile.
His grin disappeared in a flash and his eyes grew cold as he jiggled the cables. “Okay, try it again,” he ordered, averting his gaze.
Climbing back into the car, I turned the key and it sparked to life. Oh, thank God! I got out again to thank him, but left the motor running, just in case. “So it was just the connection?”
He mumbled, then let the hood drop shut and strode off without saying another word.
Just because he had atrocious manners — when he wasn’t saving my ass — didn’t mean I had to stoop to his level. Besides, people were always nicer when you were friendly. “Thank you!”
He didn’t even turn around. Sometimes, taking the high road sucked.
Oh, what the hell. “Maybe you should fix that personality next!” I shouted, but he was already driving away in an old, faded red Jeep. As Zack cleared the gate, a yellow Corvette eased away from the curb and into the lane behind him.
† † †
I whooshed through the front door of my house, dropping my backpack in the entryway. This house was newer than the others we’d lived in, with high ceilings and plenty of wide-open spaces. Mom managed to make it homey despite the lack of furniture and knick-knacks, always keeping fresh flowers on the fireplace mantle, a soft rug over the hardwood floors and warm hues covering the walls.
“Mom? Dad?” I called out.
Faint voices from their bedroom wafted down to the ground floor, reminding me how much I’d be working over the weekend in my dad’s office upstairs.
But I’d have to embrace slavedom in order to win back my freedom. Maybe if I started working tonight and only stopped to eat and sleep… A thrill rippled through me at the thought of salvaging my Sunday. One thing at a time though. Right now, the only thing on my mind was talking my parents out of uprooting me again.
Bolting to the bottom of the stairs, I sprang, intending to take them two at a time. Instead, I soared over four steps, my feet landing with a thud on the fifth.
Sure, five-feet-eight was tall for a girl, but even my dad couldn’t hop that many steps as effortlessly as I just had. Unless, I’d already taken one step before doing the three. Had I?
My heart pounded, not with exertion, but sudden fear. Was my body freaking out or was I going crazy?
Eyeing the first landing, I braced myself, then leapt again. My foot slipped on the third step and my knee smacked into the hard corner. I teetered backward and caught the railing before tumbling to level ground. Pain sliced through my leg.
My knee throbbed as I hobbled the rest of the stairs one step at a time, then limped down the hallway toward my parents’ bedroom. Testing myself for suddenly developed superpowers had been a lame idea.
By the time I stood over the threshold to their room, any discomfort had completely vanished. Like I hadn’t already had enough weirdness for one day with my freaky sense of smell and heightened hearing.
Speaking of smell, the nicotine stench in the house was particularly pungent today. Before I could give it more thought, I noticed my mom smiling up at me from her cross-legged position on the floor. A thin mist of smoke from the lit cigarette between her fingers swirled up toward the ceiling. I glanced at the window that was cracked open only a smidgen and wondered why my parents hadn’t already flung themselves through the window to get some oxygen.
“Autumn.” Dad’s blond head popped up from behind his laptop. He grinned at me as he set the computer aside to reveal all six feet two inches of him. “How was your day?”
“Hi, sweetheart.” My mom’s nearly black hair swished over her arm as she reached over to cram a T-shirt into one of several very full plastic bags. Donations to the thrift store, no doubt. Mom liked to travel light, so she always purged just before we moved.
My stomach twisted at the thought of starting all over somewhere else. Worse, with school almost over, why bother enrolling me wherever we ended up? I’d be back to home schooling.
“Something wrong?” Mom asked, exhaling as she flicked ashes into the ashtray.
Yes, something was definitely wrong, but my urge to rehash it with them died as soon as I’d seen the loaded bags. What was the point when they already knew how I felt? “I’m fine,” I lied, giving them a tight smile. “I have a lot of homework though. See you for dinner.”
I slogged down the hall to my room. After kicking off my shoes, I wiggled my toes in the silky fuzz of the white faux fur rug at the foot of my bed and drew in a lungful of air. Mom or Dad must have been smoking in my room recently. Gross. I glanced at my dresser to see a stack of folded clothes that had been dropped off. With another breath came the scent of laundry detergent. From across the room.
I didn’t know how I was able to smell it from that far away, but at that moment, I didn’t care. Fatigue nagged me. Maybe after a nap, I could forget my rotten day.
Sprawling over my purple comforter, I closed my eyes. Noises surrounded me — the patter of my mom’s feet as she went downstairs, a dish clattering against the counter, the refrigerator door opening and closing, water rushing through the pipes. How could I possibly hear all that?
From my prone position, I brought my knee to my chest and rolled up my jeans. My knee appeared perfectly normal. No swelling, no scratch. But as much as it had hurt bashing into the step, there should’ve been something to show for the pain.
My new super-hearing, crazy sense of smell and fast healing couldn’t be my imagination.
But it had to be.
I was just a normal girl who’d been reading too many vampire romances and werewolf tales.
† † †
Wolves howled in the distance.
I crouched perfectly still, huddled against a moss-covered tree trunk, surrounded by the scent of damp earth and pine.
The snarls grew louder and leaves rustled. The wolves were getting closer. Sweat trickled down my temple and my breath froze in my lungs as I braced myself for the inevitable.
I sucked in air and bolted upright, my heart thudding against my ribcage. I rubbed my eyes, then scanned the walls around me. My room. No wolves. I released my breath and flopped back onto my pillow.
It had been years since I’d dreamed of them. Why now?
The sun had lowered, casting shadows on the walls. It had to be almost dinner time. My stomach growled in confirmation. Shrugging off my nightmare, I headed downstairs.
When I settled at the table to eat with my parents, I was too disturbed over the day’s events to concentrate on food. Wayward boyfriends, bitchy friends, my inevitable return to home schooling… And then there were my heightened senses and accelerated healing — which were my imagination, of course.
“How are your classes going?” My mom eyed me over her plate of rice, sautéed vegetables and stuffed tomatoes.
She didn’t fool me. Their love for me was the one constant in my life, but they took it to extremes. One more thing to add to the list of oddities about my parents: they asked a lot of questions about my teachers, my friends and anyone else I mentioned. But if someone else asked questions about us, they got twitchy.
Like in Reno, Nevada, when I was fourteen-years-old, the waiter at a restaurant was curious why we were vegetarians and asked what school I went to. We’d moved a week later. Or a couple years ago when our neighbors in St. George, Utah had asked, in what seemed like polite conversation, where we were from — I’d told them. That time, I’d only had a few days before being whisked away.
Way to make me earn my adulthood by loving me to death. I adored them, but their backseat-driving and paranoia drove me crazy. And drove me away.
They weren’t exactly over-sharers either, so my info deprivation only fueled my imagination. I used to wonder if I’d been kidnapped, but blew it off since I looked too much like my mom. Had something bad happened to make them so overcautious? I’d asked, but never got any straight answers. Ironically, I’d hated their aversion to sharing information, yet I’d developed the same affliction with them.
Until I knew the reason for their paranoia, omitting details and giving my parents a more pleasant version of reality would keep them from worrying as much — and from ruining my life.
“Aced my history test.” Which was odd since I hadn’t studied at all. Like I’d suddenly gotten way smarter. “But I’m not sure why any of that matters since I won’t be graduating with everyone else.” I set my glass on the table with a bang.
Dad cleared his throat. “We’re doing what’s best for this family.”
“Whatever,” I mumbled.
Mom took a sip from her glass of juice, her gaze still steady on mine. “You should know, your father accepted that job today.”
So it was official. My eyes stung. “When does it start?”
Dad reached over to squeeze my hand. “We’re still working that out.”
My parents shelled out money for my private school, so we couldn’t be poor. But if we stayed here and they turned down work, could they still afford the tuition? Whether we stayed or left, I was screwed.
I blinked away the burn in my eyes as I withdrew my hand from his and got up. “Thanks for dinner.” After loading my plate into the dishwasher, I headed to my room to mope in private.
Just as I settled on the bed and turned on the TV, a rap sounded on my door. Apparently, going five minutes without laying eyes on me was too long. “Come in.”
Mom and Dad appeared in the doorway, each holding a glowing cigarette between their fingers. I wondered if it was a conspiracy to stink up my room.
With only the dim light from my TV barely reaching their faces, they could almost pass for teenagers. They insisted that their vegetarian diet and jogging every night kept them young. Except they smoked. Go figure.
“Did you want to talk about it?” Dad asked.
I muted the TV. “Is it going to change anything?” I fired back.
He shook his head. “We’ve made our decision.”
Exactly. They’d still haul me from city to city and they weren’t going to give me a pardon on the debt or unground me.
“Then I have nothing to say.” I switched the sound back on and turned to the TV.
Mom peeked past Dad’s shoulder, her amber eyes narrowing just before closing the door.
Damn them.
Restless, I jumped off the bed and opened the window for some fresh air. I looked past the neighbor’s parted curtains to their ghastly, paisley-patterned paper, which I hadn’t been able to see yesterday.
Yep, even my vision was better.
Maybe my improved senses were stress-related. Like the way moms were capable of great strength to save their child. If I did away with the stress, maybe my body would start metabolizing normally again. Maybe that’s all there was to it.
After my shower, I threw on some pajamas, then went in search of dessert. Maybe after getting some chocolate in my system, I’d feel normal.
A lot of chocolate.
“We’re leaving for our run, sweetheart,” my dad said as I descended the stairs. “We’ll be gone an hour or so. You’ll be okay while we’re out?”
I blew out a breath, slipping in a groan for their benefit. “I think I can handle being home alone for an hour. Maybe one day, when I’m thirty or forty, you can leave me alone all day.”
Dad laughed, my irritation soaring over his head. Mom gave me a scolding look before following him out the front door.
On the way to the fridge, I shook out my arms to relax. An unfamiliar energy, like a power surge, centered in my chest and spread out. My pulse hammered. What the hell was that? Panic crept up on me. Maybe I had a brain aneurysm or something.
As my breathing calmed and the tingles faded, I could almost believe I was okay and that most likely it was just my crappy day that had taken its toll. Yeah, that’s all there was to it.
Grabbing a juice bottle from the fridge, I held it in one hand and twisted off the cap with the other. The bottle burst and liquid sprayed. I winced as shards of glass sliced through my palm and blood flowed down to my fingertips, blending with the spilled juice.
My heart pounded. I sucked in a few long breaths which seemed to dull the pain. With trembling hands, I threw the glass shards in the garbage, then ran water over my palm to survey the damage. The cool stream soothed my frayed nerves and washed the blood down the drain.
How had I shattered the bottle with my bare hands? Defective bottle? It had to be. I couldn’t imagine the amount of strength it would take to crush a glass bottle.
Strangely, all the pain had faded, even though it had only been a matter of seconds since I’d broken the bottle. Flipping my hands over and back again, I couldn’t find the source of the blood. How was that possible? Blood would’ve required an opening to pass through. And yet, no such opening existed.
No avoiding it now. Something was definitely up.
A logical explanation had to exist somewhere, but I had no idea where to start. The last place I’d go for information was my parents. The way they worried about me, I’d probably find myself in the hospital. Next thing you know, I’d be the subject of some weird experiment.
NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER: As with any Veronica Blade book, this is a ROMANCE NOVEL, meaning it’s romance FIRST and everything else is secondary. Rated PG-13 for sexual situations and mild profanity.
Different species. Mortal enemies. It’ll never work, but they’ll die trying.
Autumn Rossi thought she was a normal teenager. Suddenly, she can outrun every critter in the forest, making her wonder if she’s even human.
When the new guy at school, Zack de Luca, witnesses a questionable scene, he unfairly pins her as stuck-up. He acts like he hates her, yet he keeps bailing her out of trouble. Not only is Zack both insufferable and irresistible, he seems to sniff her anytime he gets close.
As passion flares between them, Autumn isn’t sure which is more dangerous: her psycho ex-boyfriend, or falling for Zack — who’s risking his life just by being near her.
Book Trailer:
Reviews:
“Un-freakin-believable!!” and “This is truly one of the best YA Paranormal novels that I have ever read…” — CafeOfDreamsBookReviews.com
“I just can’t say enough how much I loved this book!”— InJuliesOpinion.blogspot.com
“A fast-paced, intriguing start to the Shapes of Autumn series, My Wolf’s Bane is an awesome read.” — Susan Hatler, International bestselling author
A romantic comedy. Kiwi romance-writers plot hot juicy novels – and their real lives sizzle right along with their story-lines. They’re seeking publication and love with equal intensity. Some get luckier than they dreamed. Some…don’t.
The Bonk Squad is a quirky romp with three ‘real-life’ romances spanning the length of the book. There are also many shorter imaginary ones – all paying affectionate homage to the many faces of romance-writing.
You’ll meet hopeful Meg – librarian by day, writer by night – and her seventeen year old son Ben, who provides the inspiration for nubile Tigger’s self-published sexcapades. There’s shy garden center owner Ian, glamorous and bitchy divorcee Liz, handsome Al who wants a playmate, elderly Vi who certainly doesn’t, and Nurse Mandy who has the medical jargon but very little more. Actress Eloise tries to write historical novels like her published friend Romy, and vegetarian virgin Bobbie has heard there’s money in erotica… Step inside the characters’ fertile minds and you’ll spot the authors who are never going to sell. Come on – laugh yourself silly!
And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:
CHAPTER 1 – MEG AND THE PUMPING THIGHS
I think about sex far too often, Meg thought—thinking about sex again as she watched a lanky boy in hip-slipping jeans kissing the bare shoulder of his skimpily dressed blonde girlfriend. It was all too easy to imagine his hungry young mouth on her own skin.
Maybe that boy is a car thief just out of jail? And the girl is a pampered princess from the richest stud farm in the Havelock hills?Plenty of conflict and angst there. No happy ending without a lot of clever writing.
Meg was trying so hard to become a romance novelist…
Sighing, she turned away, half closed her eyes against the late afternoon sun, and waited for the traffic lights to turn green. Something catchy burst and buzzed from the old car radio. She wound the volume up and tapped her fingers on the steering wheel in time with it.
Summer had almost arrived in New Zealand. Christmas was a bare month off. The brilliant weather had peaches and apples swelling on thousands of trees in the orchards around Hastings, and people wearing fewer clothes. Inspiration for a romance novelist sprang out everywhere she looked.
The old green Toyota rocked a little, shaking her out of her reverie. A cyclist leaned on the car, gripping the corner pillar. Meg’s eyes widened as they strayed over his bulging bicep, down his strong, corded forearm, and on past long tanned fingers protruding suggestively from his cutaway cycling glove.
I’m doing it again.
She could easily imagine that hand caressing her face, moving down the sensitive column of her neck, sliding insistently lower to her aching, tingling—
PAAAAAAARP!!!!
The huge farty toot from the truck right behind jerked her back to reality and she stalled the car. Cursing, she wrenched the key around and pumped the accelerator.
“Yer-yer-yer-yer-yer,” the Toyota said, without firing. By the time it did, the lights had changed again and the cyclist was way across the intersection, Lycra clad butt high in the air, long legs pedaling like pistons.
Meg sat there dazed and distracted, and mentally assigned his tight muscular backside to the assortment of characters in the stories her writing group was working on. It might be just the right rear for Higgins the pot-boy in Vi’s tale about Mistress Golightly and the handsome but impoverished vicar. Or maybe the dashing vicar himself was the owner of the excellent ass?
Eloise could use it, perhaps? For the stable lad who was giving Duchess Davinia a spot of rumpty-tumpty when the old Duke wasn’t about. Yes, that was more like it. The stable lad in the tight velvet breeches and ripped ivory-colored shirt. Eloise had read out a very cunning little scene at the last meeting where the Duchess had flicked a horsewhip onto his rippling golden back—just lightly, to spur him on. It had worked a treat. (The scene, as well as the whip. Meg pressed her thighs together as she recalled her reaction to it.)
She groaned; her friends were right—she needed a new man if she had all this sex on her brain. Ben would be off to university in a few months, and then she’d be on her own.
Fat chance of finding another pleasant looking, nice natured man who’d be happy with her incessant writing though!
I’ll do some housework tonight, she promised herself, dragging her thoughts away from possible future pleasure. If she left it until the morning she might never get around to it—and her writing group did tend to move the chairs about, exposing the fluffy pieces of floor for anyone to see. She needed to throw herself into some serious dusting, too.
And put some decent soap and a pretty hand towel in the powder room. Surely elderly Vi would have turned her nose up at the raggy old Star Wars towel Ben had hung there for the last meeting?
But she was itching to get back to the Italian billionaire plot she was playing with. Carlo. And the very English nanny, Angela, who had gone to his palazzo, which was furnished with priceless antiques, to look after his lively dark-haired children. The handsome billionaire needed to somehow discover Angela in her underwear. Real silk and French lace. Navy and cream? Coffee and cream? Black and lavender? Meg considered the myriad possibilities.
At last the lights changed again. She made an efficient getaway this time, just as Bruce Springsteen’s husky voice assured her he had ‘a bad desire’ and that he was on fire. Imagine having Bruce-baby crooning to you in bed! She drove on, nodding in time to the syncopated guitar breaks between the verses, and enjoying the smoldering sensuality of the song. In no time her imagination shot into overdrive again.
“I have a bad desire,” raven-haired Valerian murmured as he gazed down on Celia’s pale neck. Her veins showed tender blue under her silky skin. He smelled the faint richness of her delectable blood. His fangs throbbed as they slowly extended…
“No!” Celia gasped, trying to writhe out of his arms. “You promised you wouldn’t.”
He fixed his hypnotic eyes on hers, willing her to let him bite. Around them the trees thrashed in the gale. Fitful moonlight flickered between the branches, but apart from this faint silver glimmering, everything was dark. As dark as her eyes. As dark as his desires.
He bent lower. Gave her jugular a tender lick as she shuddered in his arms…
Meg stomped on the brake, finding herself going far too fast at the next corner with no recollection of how she’d got there. She let her fantasy fade, knowing she’d left it too late to break into the vampire market anyway. But she’d almost drawn level with the hunky cyclist again, so virtuously kept her speed down to appreciate his long sinewy legs pumping the pedals around and around.
Pumping—dangerous word, Meg.
She grinned to herself. It was second only to thrusting. Thrusting was excellent.
Enjoying those legs almost caused her to miss stopping at the Spots Off to collect her dry-cleaning. She’d vowed to make more of an effort with her appearance from now on, and planned to wear her good black trousers and the new taupe cotton jersey with the plunging V-neck tomorrow. Helpful for diminishing a generous bosom—or so Trinny and Susannah insisted. And Meg’s bosom was undeniably generous these days. Her hips were trying to balance the bosom up, unfortunately. She didn’t mind the boobs but she rather resented the hips.
“It’s much harder to lose that weight after forty,” her disciplined and stringy mother had warned her. Still, Meg knew she’d rather be a rounded thirty-nine than a skinny sixty-seven. And only rounded—not fat, you understand…
The Toyota chugged on in a cloud of music and exhaust smoke. The small commercial buildings started to thin out toward the end of Heretaunga Street. The old converted church stood aloofly on its corner, spire covered in lichen. A tall privet hedge burst with feathery full-sneeze white bloom. An over-optimistic Cambodian café had tried and failed; the signage lived on but the chef had long gone.
Meg trundled around a corner into middle class suburbia—past pastel colored timber houses with gardens where dogs barked behind gates, trees hung over walls, and impatiens and petunias ran riot in terracotta pots beside barbecues as big as bullocks.
She steered the car into her driveway and just about collected the side fence with surprise. The cyclist had obviously kept his sinewy tanned thighs pumping with great efficiency while she’d been waiting at the Spots Off, because he was knocking on her red front door. One long arm supported his racing cycle.
He turned as she lurched to a rather undignified halt. The late sun lit his dark hair with warm chestnut highlights. A most satisfactory bulge filled the front of his tight black bike pants. Curly hair burst from the neckline of his stretchy shirt. And he inspected her with arrogant eyes. Or possibly piercing eyes? Eyes as dark and watchful as a jungle predator? Jolly nice brown ones, anyway.
The door swung open. Ben ushered him in. To Meg’s amazement he took the bike inside with him. One of Ben’s friends? He’d looked quite a bit older than that.
She grabbed her handbag and the dry-cleaning, and forgot to lock the Toyota in her haste to catch up with them.
Sunshine drenched the house next morning.
God— ten o’clock already.
Meg stretched until her bones popped, no longer able to ignore the bright light at the faded edges of the floral curtains, or the accusing green numbers on the bedside clock.
Orlando and Bella sprang up from the foot of the bed, quite used to dry kitty-nibbles on Saturday mornings—but maybe their luck was in today?
Meg heaved herself out of bed, and the two sleek cats bounded ahead of her.
“Not yet, you two,” she called after them as they skittered down the stairs.
First she needed headache pills. Plural. She’d not had that much to drink for years. And never with a man with such a body.
Alan.
‘Call-me-Al’.
Father of Ben’s friend Michael. Computer expert, and owner of the pumping thighs.
She flinched as the pills hit the water and made a terrible noise. Once the fizzing had finished she gulped the mixture down, grimacing at the taste.
Two bottles of Chardonnay. One glass each for seventeen-year-old Ben and Michael, and all the rest for the adults.
Who’d been acting like stupid kids, she had to concede.
With some ancient Drambuie to follow, just to make really sure she’d be hung-over today.
No housework done. No progress with Carlo the widowed Italian billionaire and his pretty nanny who had to get her underwear on display somehow. No flowers in the powder room. The powder room—what a penny-pinching cop-out! Why hadn’t the builder squeezed in a shower box and put a pedestal basin instead of the over-large, wall hung vanity unit beside the toilet? A complete second bathroom would have been heaven.
Meg sashed her dark blue robe, picked up a suitable looking bottle of body lotion, and regarded herself blearily in the all too bright bathroom mirror. Lord! She shook her head at her rumpled reflection and staggered down the stairs, running her fingers through her tangled fair hair.
She decided the top of the vanity unit looked quite clean enough, placed the body lotion on it for decoration, and snaffled the crumpled lime green towel for the wash.
Grabbed a small glass vase and filled it with water, wrenched a strongly-fragrant white lily off the bunch on the sideboard, and set her floral highlight beside the body lotion.
Found a good thick cream towel with a band of useless scratchy embroidery, and hung it with exaggerated care on the towel rail.
Pulled the powder room door shut, closed her eyes, and leaned on the wall for strength. Right—one room finished.
The living area would take a bit longer. It looked and smelled like a neglected Italian café, decorated with empty pizza boxes and sticky glasses. Coffee mugs and pages from last night’s newspaper were strewn about. And something that looked like a puddle of congealed custard clung to the top of the dining table. Meg was surprised the cats hadn’t cleaned that up.
Or maybe they’d produced it? Eeuw!
She stepped cautiously closer, and relaxed. Definitely custard. Vague memories now of making custard in the microwave oven to pour over Watties tinned peaches. Over the table, too, it seemed.
“Here cats!” she called, wincing at the sound of her own voice. Orlando sailed up and began investigating the tasty offering. She gave him an affectionate stroke and turned to make coffee. Strong coffee. She collected plates, glasses and mugs, and dumped them all in the dishwasher; squirted some air freshener around, and collapsed into her favorite armchair, trying to remember exactly what had happened.
Okay, the man had disappeared into her house wheeling his mean looking bicycle. Fine. She’d followed. Found it leaning against the wall in the front entrance. Ben and Muscles had been stroking it and muttering things like ‘carbon fiber’ and ‘nine grand’.
(For a bike??? She could get a good secondhand car for that.)
Muscles had thrust his hand toward her in a very hearty and confident manner.
“Alan Sabatini. Call-me-Al. Good to meet you at last, Meg.”
She must have looked less than enlightened because Ben added, “Michael’s Dad. He’s helping me sort out the computer.”
She’d shaken handsome Call-me-Al’s hand and tried not to look like a gulping goldfish. “That’s very kind of you,” she’d managed.
Call-me-Al seemed not the least bit embarrassed his genitals were displayed in snug detail by the tight Lycra shorts. Or that his long muscular legs had been completely and beautifully shaved—rather better than Meg’s own were by the end of a busy week.
She’d gone upstairs to stow her dry-cleaning so she could recover for a moment. He was overpowering up close. A lot taller than her. And wafting the twin intoxicating scents of fresh perspiration and expensive cologne around her home. She’d squirted on some of last Christmas’s Opium to level the stakes, and taken a book downstairs so she could stay within earshot.
“Bloody machine!” she heard Al exclaim.
“What’s wrong?” she called.
“Your computer’s not co-operating.”
“Now there’s a surprise. Ben can make it behave, but not me. Do you two want coffee?”
Angry mutters continued to reach her after coffees were provided.
Time slid by. Ben’s cell-phone did its duck-quacking noise and there was a brief conversation. Soon afterward, someone knocked on the front door.
She put down her book. “I’ll go,” she said, feeling pretty sure no-one else would.
“Hi, Mrs Josephs—is Dad still here?”
It was Michael to see what had become of his father. So Meg took a few moments to review the contents of the fridge and decided there wasn’t enough of anything to feed four. She leaned around the doorframe to Ben’s bedroom. By now there were three annoyed males to glare back at her.
“How about I go for pizza?” she suggested.
“Get a couple of bottles of wine, too,” Al insisted, producing warm banknotes from somewhere mysterious inside his clothing, and insisting it was his shout. Meg decided that was fair enough if he could afford to spend so much on a bicycle. She’d provided the venue and would be stacking the dishwasher, after all.
So she burbled off in the Toyota and returned with ridiculous amounts of food, all of which disappeared with incredible speed down the throats of two gangly teenagers and one athletic father. And still they’d seemed hungry—hence the impromptu dessert delight of canned peaches and hot runny custard.
She sipped her coffee in the mid-morning sunshine. She had the strong and worrying feeling that while the boys had returned to Ben’s bedroom to surf the net, she and Al had danced to one of her father’s old albums by Herb Alpert and his Tijuana Brass. God, surely not. How drunk did you have to be to dance with a man in bike pants?
She definitely recalled teasing him about his shaved legs—and being told that racing cyclists all did that because they got grazed in accidents if they slid along the road surface. The scabs got full of hair (or the hair got full of scabs) and that was a Bad Thing.
He’d shown her several very fetching scars on assorted parts of his impressive body. She’d reciprocated by hitching up her skirt and displaying the line from the operation on her knee tendon. It was all she had, really. Well—there was the appendicitis scar, but she was reasonably certain she’d not been foolish enough to exhibit that…
And she suspected she’d shared a few woozy kisses with him on the big old cream sofa. But nothing more, for sure. Not with the boys in the next room.
She finished the coffee. The pills had not kicked in with any enthusiasm.
Ohhhhhh God. She’d need a smaller headache than this to drag the noisy, super-sucking, extra powerful cleaner around the floors. Dusting was quiet. She’d do that first.
“Morning, Mom.”
Ben ambled, blinking, out into the light of day. Tall and clumsy, and almost a man. He shuffled the newspaper together and Meg flinched at the vicious rustling. At least things looked more respectable now. They ate breakfast in companionable silence until—
“Hey, Mom, you know that old tea trolley in the garage?”
“Mmmmm?”
“Can I have it in my room?”
“Mmmmm.”
“Cool.”
What on earth is he up to now?
She tidied away the breakfast things, arranged plenty of mugs on the kitchen counter with the sugar basin, the jar of instant coffee, the tea caddy, a milk jug and some empty plates…spared the fluffy floor a guilty glance, and hurried upstairs to shower and dress with all possible speed.
She froze at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Al’s mouth had undeniably acquainted itself with the slope of her left breast. She peered down at the all too obvious mark. Would the low V-neck of the new taupe jersey hide it?
Not really. She dabbed a bit of foundation on it, thought that made it look more obvious, washed it off again, and decided if anyone mentioned it she’d look mysterious. Old Vi would miss the point, and maybe her cred would go up a bit with naughty Liz, and thrice-published Romy, and Bobbie who wrote erotica. Meg wasn’t quite certain what erotica was. Somewhere midway between romance and pornography, she suspected.
Eloise wouldn’t be shocked by the evidence of Al’s advances. She was an actress—nothing shocked her, ever. And Nurse Mandy had seen it all before. Ian would have to take it or leave it.
But how had Al managed to burrow that far under her blouse? It was her first love-bite in years, and she’d missed the experience.
Oh Chardonnay! Oh Drambuie! Oh damn…
CHAPTER 2 – TIGGER TAPS HER TOY
Tigger trotted back to her old childhood bedroom with yet another mug of coffee, pulled her long legs in under the duvet, and settled back into her pile of pillows. A small smile tweaked at the corners of her pretty mouth. This holiday back home had been a great idea. Not only summer weather but lots more time to write.
After several sips, she set the mug down on her bedside table and opened her gleaming silver Mac. She was so into this story! She’d decided to call it ‘Exploring Ryan’ because that’s exactly what would happen. Lots of exploring by a girl who wanted to know more so she could self-publish her slightly dodgy stories on Amazon.
Not unlike Tigger herself was doing.
Advertising in the local paper had seemed a good place for her heroine to start. Tigger knew if she had the girl advertising online, she might be contacted by men from the other side of the world. And she needed them living locally for the story to work.
She tucked her tongue into the corner of her mouth, and her fingers raced over the keys.
Having placed the ad in the wanted column, Sophie waited for the phone to ring. Naturally she’d only put her cell-phone number—she didn’t want any of the men to track her down at the apartment.
In truth she was a little dismayed at how the ad looked.
Author seeks o-minded sexually exp. man for erotic chat. No phys. contact req.
Surprising the difference the abbreviations made to her careful wording. Might prospective callers read it as ‘sexually explicit’ instead of ‘sexually experienced’? God, she hoped not.
The first call came just as she arrived home. He sounded Scottish, and was certainly drunk.
“Aye lassie, you need a sexy man for dirrrty talk?” he slurred. “I’ll talk dirrrty. I’ll talk the lacy wee panties right off your bonny backside. I’ll—”
Sophie pressed the cancel key.
The phone beeped again just seconds later.
“Cut off in ma prime, girlie. And you should see the size of me. He’s a beauty tonight. So thick that—”
OMG—she hadn’t expected anything like this!
“Excuse me sir,” she snapped. “Someone has printed my cell-phone number by mistake. If you ring again I’ll call the Police.” She jabbed at the cancel key, praying she’d heard the last of him.
Her knees had turned to jelly. Maybe this was a really stupid idea? She clutched her arms around herself and rocked to and fro for a few moments before walking across to the refrigerator. The tall green bottle of Sauvignon Blanc waited patiently. Sophie opened it and poured a glassful for courage.
“Are you still in bed, Tigs?” her mother asked, pushing the bedroom door open without knocking. “Are you ever getting up? You can’t be that jet lagged, surely?”
Tigger angled the screen away from Eloise’s sharp eyes.
“Just emailing London, Mom. The band’ll be out working by now, so I can’t Skype him.” She sent Eloise what she hoped was a love-struck look.
“Hmmm,” was all she got in return.
“Only a few more minutes,” she begged.
“It’s nearly lunchtime. Have you had any breakfast?”
“I made toast.”
“Well don’t be much longer. It’s a lovely day out there.”
Tigger waited until Eloise swept dramatically out again before re-reading what was on the screen.
…a glassful for courage…a glassful for courage… She took a deep breath and started tapping away again.
It was more than half an hour before the next call, and by then Sophie had sipped her whole glassful of Sauvignon, very slowly, while she sat on the patio in the early evening sun.
“Sweetie!” an enthusiastic and sibilant voice exclaimed in her ear. “You’re a woman! Damn! I was hoping for a man when your ad just said ‘author’.”
“Sorry,” Sophie muttered, picturing a flamboyantly dressed theatrical type.
“Oh well, no probs. I’m Gordon, by the way.”
“Hi Gordon, I’m Amy,” Sophie lied. “Thanks for ringing anyway.”
“Satisfy my curiosity at least, darling—why are you advertising for a man when you could phone one of the sexy chat lines and get all the grubby talk you want?”
“Because I don’t want grubby talk…exactly,” she said, warming to the unknown nosey extrovert. “I enjoy writing, and there’s a huge market for erotica these days. It’s all some of the publishers are asking for.”
“You want a man for erotic chats to get you in the mood? Oh you are a naughty girl.”
“Absolutely not. I can get myself in a sexy mood very nicely, thank you. I just need a bit more…information.” Heat spread up her neck and invaded her face. Damn her easy blushes. Would she ever grow out of them?
“You’re not a little virgin are you?” gay Gordon teased.
“No way,” Sophie snapped. At five foot nine, and almost too busty for her C-cups, she’d not considered herself ‘little’ for years. The virgin bit was none of his business. “But I’m writing male/female stories so you’re really not who I need, are you?” she added. “Thanks anyway.”
“I can give you lots of info about good lubricant,” Gordon continued, taking no notice of her polite dismissal. “Butter is useless. I know Marlon Brando was into butter in ‘Last Tango’, but it’s not the answer, sweetie. Lubricating jelly’s a bit too clinical for me—and if you’d ever had your prostate probed you’d know all about that.”
Sophie snorted at that unlikely eventuality.
“There’s baby oil of course, but the best I ever had was some stuff extracted from green kiwi-fruit. Lovely and slippery.”
“Thank-you,” she said. “Bye. Thanks so much.” She cut him off before he could go into further detail.
Once more Eloise flung the door open. “Tigger! Lunch is on the table.”
Tigger sighed. “Getting up right now, Mom.”
CHAPTER 3 – VI CONSIDERS AROUSALS
“Muffins or pikelets, Arnold?”
The old cat stared up, unblinking. The fridge had been opened. Another meal might be possible.
Vi knew the younger people rarely contributed proper food toward the writers’ afternoon tea. There would be chocolate biscuits. Packets of fudge or caramels. There’d once been a bowl of Easter eggs. And sometimes that expensive mild Brie cheese she’d never quite seen the point of, and gritty corn-chips.
Meg bought things from the local bakery and cut them up. Ginger slice or anemic sponge roll. So Vi always baked a proper batch of something, to keep the Standard from Slipping. She was very keen on Standards not setting off down Slippery Slopes.
Really—some of the stories the younger people wrote… They might be entertaining, but they were hardly proper. Swear-words (quite bad ones sometimes), and such a lot of sex. Eloise hadn’t turned a hair at naming the stable lad’s private parts at the last meeting. His penis. His pulsing purple penis. Vi had never been quite certain what color her late husband’s was. He’d been decent enough to keep it hidden and only produced it in the dark. Even when they were first married. Because he knew Vi had Standards.
Purple?! That had come as quite a shock.
Why couldn’t Eloise just have said ‘his private parts’ or ‘his masculinity’ or even ‘his arousal’ if she’d wanted to be a bit spicy? An arousal sounded quite nice. Soft and cuddly like a toy or a small animal. ‘His arousal peeked endearingly at her from around the tree trunk.’ The long, hard, up-thrusting, smooth, warm…tree trunk.
She huffed and shook her head. She’d never admit it to them of course, but perhaps it might be fun to try a little of ‘that sort of thing.’ She’d do it under an assumed name, naturally. Certainly not Violet Maybury. May Berryman perhaps? Lettie Berryman? May Hartly? Tartly? Choosing the name could be as much fun as writing the story. She mused on as she lined up the canister of self-rising flour, the milk, the eggs, and the caster sugar on her pale gray Formica counter top.
She decided on pikelets for their afternoon tea treat. Warm, floppy, steaming pikelets. A bit like the gentlemen who populated her safe stories for the genteel ladies’ magazines. Warm hands, floppy hair, steaming looks held in check by impeccable manners. Vi was quite good at setting up little scenarios that let her readers know what was likely to happen without anything really happening at all.
She peered out the window as she started to beat the mixture. The wind buffeted her trees, making them dip and sway and creak. They should have been trimmed back several years ago, but with Brian gone, these tasks did seem to slide. Now she’d have to find a proper arborist, who would no doubt cost an arm and a leg. She imagined a suitably strong young man as she splashed a few drops of water onto the hot fry-pan to test the heat. Arnold scuttled away as it sizzled and steamed. She wiped the buttery paper over the surface and started the first three pikelets, letting the pale mixture run down off the spoon into sticky little puddles.
Slowly they puffed up…growing…expanding. She waited for the bubbles, then flipped them over. The soft golden undersides were as smooth and hot as a man’s skin. She stroked one with her forefinger. Lovely to touch.
Just like that poor young stable boy’s back. The long golden back that had been rippling with lean muscles once the Duchess had tugged the ivory shirt off it. How could you take a horsewhip to something so beautiful? Time slid by as she daydreamed.
She sniffed. Burnt! And tossed her first effort into the garbage pail with an oath she’d learned from Liz McKenzie.
Now there was a hussy, if ever there was one. Liz was tall and slender. Always wore jeans that sat low on her slinky hips. Vi had never seen her in a top that fitted properly. There was a permanent band of bare skin on display, and often a belly-button, too. And a glittery stud thing sitting just above it. How could men be expected to keep their hands off her?
Vi always noticed the dark tattoo in the hollow of Liz’s back. What was the point of that? Liz certainly couldn’t see it. Vi kept her eyes open for it every time Liz bent or swayed and displayed a bit more skin. It looked like Batman, of all things. Why would you want Batman on your back?
She could understand the anchor on her late husband’s arm. A souvenir from the Korean War. Three young men all a little tipsy together and egging each other on; it was only to be expected.
She’d always presumed the anchor was a bit of an oopsie, really—Brian had been in aircraft maintenance.
She shook her head again as she slid the spatula under the final three pikelets and flipped them over. Maybe she could give her imaginary arborist a tattoo somewhere? And invent a pretty young landscaper to admire it? She could call it ‘Branching Out’.
Leah Walls halted abruptly in front of the mountain of fresh foliage. A huge piece of Magnolia Campbellii had broken off in the gale, entirely blocking the stone steps to number thirty-four.
She peered upward. A pale gash showed where the tree had split. A patch of dark rot explained why it had plummeted down.
How could she get past? And how would Mrs. Banks get home after visiting her elderly sister?
Leah needed some final measurements for a previously discussed landscaping project—a courtyard at the rear of the old house. She’d been assured Mr. Banks was home to answer any questions, so that meant he was trapped behind the tangle, poor old boy. She pulled out her phone to let him know. It rang for ages before he answered it, and the line crackled.
“Mr. Banks? It’s Leah Walls, the landscaper.”
“Who? Another landscaper?”
Damn—he sounded as though he wasn’t expecting her.
“I’ve just arrived,” she continued firmly, “and there’s a big piece of tree blocking your steps. I can’t get in, and that means you can’t get out.”
“I’ll be right down.”
She consulted her notes while she cooled her heels. Mrs. Banks had requested an enlarged lily pond, a more attractive fountain, a long colorful easy-care border, and some raised herb beds surrounded by recycled bricks. Leah had some extra ideas she was keen to incorporate. Wind protection for starters—a slatted timber screen would make it a much more inviting place to sit and relax.
She soon heard descending feet and a couple of surprised curses. The greenery shook.
“You’ll never move it,” she called upward.
“Watch me. Stand clear down there.”
She bristled, sure she could handle the job better than a grouchy geriatric.
The sound of sawing followed, and a grunt. A branch whistled over. She ducked. More sawing. Another branch. She was ready for this one and kept well back. Through a thinner patch of leaves she now glimpsed a red-handled pruning saw the same as hers. Wielded by a long tanned muscular arm nothing remotely like hers. Did Mrs. Banks have a toy-boy?
“Horrible wind today,” she tried. “Shame about the tree.”
“Stupid place to plant it.”
Well, wasn’t he in a good mood!
Another piece hurtled down. A very good leg appeared and braced itself on a large branch. A leg with a muddy brown boot, a hairy gray sock neatly cuffed above it, and a less hairy but quite spectacular calf and thigh above that. A Celtic tattoo curled up the side of the calf. Leah’s eyes widened as the sawing resumed. Mr. Banks had to be at least seventy. That leg was much younger.
She took a thoughtful step backward. And just as well, because the remaining piece of tree suddenly un-snagged itself and toppled down the steps toward her, whacking the side of her van.
“Hey!” she objected, glaring up. The wrecker stood there, one hand on his hip, the pruning saw hanging loosely from his other. A tall hard-bodied man of maybe thirty—wearing only a pair of low slung khaki shorts apart from his boots and muscles. And the odd gleam of sweat. And a frown.
Leah huffed out an annoyed breath and turned to inspect the paintwork. “Look what you’ve done.”
“How bad is it?”
She started to tug at the rogue foliage and he jogged down the steps to help. Fortunately the leafy end and not the jagged timber stub had hit the van.
“Walls’ Garden Design?” he queried, heaving the big piece of tree aside with impressive ease. “What are you here for?”
“I’m re-working the courtyard,” she said, wondering how she could get a better look at him without staring.
“Can’t be. That’s what I’m doing.”
“The back courtyard.” Maybe there was another?
“Yep—the back courtyard. New pool and fountain.”
“No! That’s my job. She’s paid a deposit.”
“Too late, sorry. I’ve already done most of it. What the hell is Gran playing at?”
“Gran? Mrs. Banks is your grandmother?”
“Dad’s Mom. Did she strike you as senile?” His scowl had softened. Leah now saw genuine concern in his very blue eyes.
“Not at all. Quite the opposite. Seemed to know exactly what she was doing.”
“Hmmm.”
“I’ve already bought the fountain she chose,” Leah added.
“Got it here? I can give you a lift up with it.”
“I hope she still wants it. It won’t be too bad to carry. It’s copper, not concrete.”
“Ric Banks,” he said, pulling off a dirt-encrusted leather gardening glove, and reaching out to shake her hand. She saw long fingers and well-tended nails.
“That’s not a landscaper’s hand,” she said, enjoying the scent of his warm skin and a hint of cologne on the frisky breeze.
“Guitar.” His sudden grin was gorgeous. “Have to look after them a bit.”
It was Leah’s turn to say ‘Hmmm.’ She wouldn’t mind being looked after by those hands. Or nibbled on by those even white teeth…
Ric dragged the big piece of Magnolia further away and sawed it up while she unlocked the van for the boxes containing the fancy French fountain.
“So she went for the three tiers with the cherub on top?” he said, inspecting the photo on the packing. “She was still dithering about it last time we talked.”
“That’s strange. She told me she wanted this design right from the start. I think it set her off on the whole scheme.”
He sent her a disbelieving look.
“Truly,” she added, beeping the van locked and hefting one of the boxes. He followed with the other.
She scooted up the steps in front of him, acutely aware her jeans were on the snug side. Thank heavens there weren’t many steps.
She sighed when she saw Ric’s work. The pavers were beautifully laid, the brick herb-boxes built, and he’d started on the lily pond.
“You’re right, there’s no job left for me. You’ve nearly finished.”
“Good heavens no,” Mrs. Banks said briskly, trotting through a gate from the property next door. “I thought we should get my grandson to do all heavy work because he’s nice and fit, and very good at this sort of thing.”
Ric rolled his eyes and struck an ironic body-builder’s pose. Leah took this as an invitation—checking him out was no chore at all.
Mrs. Banks smiled. “And I want your help with the pretty plants, dear,” she said to Leah. “You did some lovely borders for my friend Evelyn Mitchell, and I’d like something similar.”
Leah reluctantly turned away from her excellent view and tried to remember the Mitchell job. Buxus edging and clumps of raspberry-colored Heuchera and white Flower Carpet roses? Delphiniums? Impatiens to fill the gaps?
“It doesn’t really work that way, Gran,” Ric objected. “You can’t employ two people to do one job.”
“Why ever not?” Mrs Banks asked, raising her neat gray eyebrows and looking slightly too innocent. “You each have different talents, so I’m sensibly making use of them.”
Leah tried to stifle her laugh but a small puff of mirth still burst out. Ric heard, and grinned across at her.
“A set-up, ya reckon?”
“She’s very good at it.”
“Yeah, I wasn’t expecting this.” He turned back to his grandmother. “You’re a sneaky old schemer, Gran. How’s Cecily now? On the mend?”
Mrs. Banks managed to look reasonably contrite. “Better than she was yesterday. We’ve just had a cuppa and a nice chat.”
“And spied on us with the binoculars she keeps for the boats on the harbor, I daresay?”
His grandmother chuckled, plainly guilty. “Don’t be angry, darlings. You’ve each told me you need a partner because you’re too busy. Why can’t an old lady give things a nudge in the right direction?”
“Mrs. Banks!” Leah exclaimed, amused and embarrassed in equal measure. “You mustn’t play Cupid just because your new fountain has a boy with a bow and arrow on top of it.”
“But you’d be perfect together. Your names are just right. ‘Walls and Banks’. Doesn’t that sound like a landscaping company? Cecily and I thought it was inspired.”
This time Leah couldn’t contain her laughter. “So we just need to round up a Mr Bloom and—er—Ms Ponds and that’d cover all aspects of the business?”
“Why don’t you take Leah out for a nice dinner and discuss things, Ric?”
“What things would those be, Gran?”
His grandmother flapped her hands. “I’m sure you’ll manage very well without suggestions from me.”
“I might have managed okay without you in the first place,” he said, sending Leah a hopeful glance. “You thinking of branching out?”
“No, that wasn’t what I was thinking at all.” She flashed him a mischievous invitation.
Ric’s brilliant blue eyes narrowed and his expression intensified. His excellent chest expanded as he took a deep breath and turned to Mrs. Banks.
“Riiiiiight,” he said. “I’ll add the dinner to your bill, Gran—serve you right for interfering.” He turned back to Leah. “Italian? Turkish? Seafood? Where are we going?”
She tipped her head on one side while she considered. “Cafe Magnolia on the hill above Waterfall Bay?” she suggested. “That seems kind of appropriate for Walls and Banks, don’t you think?”
Vi covered the batch of pikelets with a tea-cloth to keep the moisture in. The landscaping story might be worth writing, but once again there were no arousals—peeking around tree trunks or swelling in khaki shorts. She set the mixing bowl to soak. Oh well, she could try another story later, after the meeting. She always enjoyed the Romance Writers’ get-togethers. What should she wear? Her new mauve cardigan and the pink pin-tucked pink blouse?
Continued….
Click here to download the entire book: The Bonk Squad>>>
A romantic comedy. Kiwi romance-writers plot hot juicy novels – and their real lives sizzle right along with their story-lines. They’re seeking publication and love with equal intensity. Some get luckier than they dreamed. Some…don’t.
The Bonk Squad is a quirky romp with three ‘real-life’ romances spanning the length of the book. There are also many shorter imaginary ones – all paying affectionate homage to the many faces of romance-writing.
You’ll meet hopeful Meg – librarian by day, writer by night – and her seventeen year old son Ben, who provides the inspiration for nubile Tigger’s self-published sexcapades. There’s shy garden center owner Ian, glamorous and bitchy divorcee Liz, handsome Al who wants a playmate, elderly Vi who certainly doesn’t, and Nurse Mandy who has the medical jargon but very little more. Actress Eloise tries to write historical novels like her published friend Romy, and vegetarian virgin Bobbie has heard there’s money in erotica… Step inside the characters’ fertile minds and you’ll spot the authors who are never going to sell. Come on – laugh yourself silly!
One Reviewer Notes
“Brilliant. I loved the characters not because they’re all likeable but because they gel as a group plus the added bonus of all those ‘created’ characters as well. Highly recommended as a light-hearted fun read with LOL moments eg the bathroom scene. Thoroughly enjoyed it from start to end.” – Amazon Reviewer, 5 Stars
About The Author
If it’s fine, Kris gardens. If it’s wet, she writes. And if the writing’s going well, the garden can look after itself…
Kris writes sizzling contemporary romances, and is the current membership secretary for Romance Writers of New Zealand. Her books are generally set at least partly in the capital city of Wellington so she can make use of the beautiful harbor in the plots.
Kris has written all her life – from her autobiography at twelve, to her own special wedding service, to short stories published in mass-circulation magazines and broadcast on National Radio in New Zealand. She has a background as an advertising copywriter and a decor specialist.
During the past eight years she’s produced a selection of racy romantic novels, and publishing them on Amazon.com has been the ideal answer to share them with the world.
Here’s what Romantic Times said about ‘The Wrong Sister’
Kris Pearson
4 stars HOT
Pearson’s latest sizzles with passion and misconceptions as two souls struggle past social conventions to the love on the other side. Readers will relish the characters and will be praying that love will in fact triumph over convention.
Summary: Fiona Delaporte has it all — a wonderful social life and an exciting job on a cruise ship — until her sister succumbs to cancer and her parents ask her to keep an eye on her niece and brother-in-law — the same brother-in-law she has secretly wanted for five years and has spent the same amount of time avoiding.
Christian Hartley is in hell, forced to spend time with the sister-in-law he is attracted to, while still mourning his wife. As Fiona and Christian struggle against it, their passion spills over, burning both of them in the process. However, it’s not the passion they will need but the love, as they fear trusting in the relationship they feel is a betrayal to the woman they both loved. (KrisPearson.com, dl $2.99)
Sabrina Cooper
Kris hopes you enjoy reading the titles so far available, and assures you there are more to follow.
Let best-selling authors Kathryn Shay, Patricia McLinn, Judith Arnold and Julie Ortolon take you on the life-changing journeys of four men who find their soul mates in four very strong women. Four complete novels in one volume.
COP OF THE YEAR, Book One of the Bayview Heights series–When Captain Mitch Lansing is assigned to Cassie Smith’s high school classroom, sparks fly. He’s by-the-book, and she’s unorthodox and innovative in her teaching methods. But when Mitch develops an unstoppable bond with her students, Cassie finds her attraction to him irresistible.
“In COP OF THE YEAR (4 1/2 Stars Gold Medal), master storyteller Kathryn Shay pens an emotionally powerful tale that leaves you breathless. Woven into this riveting plot are wonderfully written characters that grab your heart and don’t let go. Bravo Ms. Shay!” RT Book Reviews
LOST AND FOUND GROOM, Book One of the A Place Called Home series–Chasing a story, hardheaded journalist Kendra Jenner is caught in a vicious hurricane…and unexpectedly in the arms of a stranger who speaks no English. Fear leads to passion leads to their making a baby. Three years later, “Paulo” arrives at her Wyoming home, speaking perfect English, and with a new name. He announces he’s come for his son and for her.
LOST AND FOUND GROOM is “…bursting with wonderful Patricia McLinn romantic touches — powerful characters, strong interplay and fiery moments.” RT Book Reviews
SOMEBODY’S DAD, from the Daddy School series–Fund manager Brett Stockton wants love, commitment, maybe even marriage—but no kids, period. Falling in love with photographer Sharon Bartell is easy. She’s everything he could possibly want in a woman…except that she’s the single mother of a two-year-old son. Can Brett learn to love Max? Or for both Max and Sharon’s sakes, should he walk away?
“Judith Arnold lives in a blessedly gimmick-free universe. No quirky plot devices, no revolutionary narrative structures, just stories of interesting people falling in love.” The Romance Reader
FALLING FOR YOU, Book One of the Pearl Island series–Propelled by a lifelong goal to buy the island home reportedly haunted by her colorful ancestors, Aurora St. Claire desperately needs Oliver Chancellor’s help in securing a business loan, and she won’t take no for an answer. In the midst of convincing the hesitant blue blood to take a chance on her dream, Rory unexpectedly lands in Chance’s arms. Now, the mismatched pair can’t keep their hands off one another, and something tells Rory she’s headed for trouble-trouble in the name of love.
“A thoroughly delightful, fast-paced romance about what happens when opposites attract. And the setting is so vividly drawn, you feel part of the surroundings. A lovely story!” Old Book Barn Gazette
And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:
COP OF THE YEAR
KATHRYN SHAY
Author’s note: COP OF THE YEAR was originally published in 1997. For many of my backlist books, I revised the stories to be current enough to take place today when I republished them. I did not revise this book because Mitch is a Vietnam Veteran, and this is a focal point of the story. The sequels to the book, BECAUSE IT’S CHRISTMAS and COUNT ON ME, also take place from 1997-2000. Cell phones and other technology are also not inserted. KS
Cop of the Year received a gold medal and the Review’s Choice Award from RT Book Club, and also the Desert Rose Golden Quill Award.
CHAPTER ONE
“AM I UNDER ARREST?”
Mitch glanced at the kid draped on the wooden bench in the squad room. “What did the officer who brought you in say?”
“Can’t you just answer a freakin’ question?”
Mitch sighed. Insolent punk.
“No, you’re not under arrest. But if you don’t keep your mouth shut, I could probably find a reason to keep you here.”
Burning brown eyes held his. “Yeah, well you’ve already done enough damage. What’s a little more?”
“A record of arrests doesn’t look good, Battaglia.”
The boy settled down, and Mitch finished typing his report into the computer. When he was done, he set it to print and leaned back. Linking his hands behind his neck, he stared at the young man who was headed for trouble. Mitch had seen too many others in New York City, and in Long Island suburbs like this one. “Who do you think took the scalpels? Since you contend you didn’t.”
Battaglia raked a shock of thick black hair off his brow. “I don’t know. There were lots of people in the operating room. Other orderlies, janitors, the guy to pick up the anesthesia stuff. Hell, maybe some nurse on crack took them to sell.”
Mitch eyed the kid’s jacket, lying on the bench next to him. The Blisters was printed in large capital letters on the back, surrounded by exploding fireworks in vivid red. Blood red. “You sure you didn’t take them? For the next street fight? I hear scalpels are the newest weapons of choice.”
“I don’t fight.”
“No, you go to tea parties with your gang buddies.”
“Listen, man, if I’m not under arrest, why do I have to stay here?”
“Because you’re under eighteen. Our town ordinance says an adult has to sign you out if you’re picked up by the cops for any reason.”
“I’ll be eighteen in a few months.”
“Should have waited until then to get into trouble.” Mitch rose to remove the paper from the printer.
The boy stood, almost matching Mitch’s height. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Sit down, Battaglia.” He sat. “Did you call someone?”
Eyes full of resentment stared back at him. They were dark and hostile.
“Johnny, what happened?” a deep female voice called from behind Mitch.
He turned to see a woman in the doorway. This was the kid’s mother? God help him. She couldn’t be more than thirty. His policeman’s mind cataloged her features. About five-seven, tall for a woman. Her carriage was an odd combination of athletic grace and streetwise toughness. She had delicate bone structure, big gray-blue eyes and strawberry-blond hair that hung in careless waves on her shoulders.
“Johnny?”
Battaglia stood again. “Sorry to get you up, Cassie. I didn’t know who else to call.” He leveled a venomous gaze on Mitch. “This pig said I need an adult to get me out of here.”
Ignoring his slur, the woman circled to face Mitch. “What happened?”
Mitch noted she didn’t ask what the kid had done. Interesting.
“Some scalpels were stolen from Bayview Heights General Hospital. Originally we thought Mr. Battaglia had taken them.”
Outrage made her eyes mostly blue. “And why is that?”
“He was the last one in the operating room.”
“He didn’t take the scalpels.”
“How do you know that?”
“He loves his job as an orderly. He’d never do anything to jeopardize it. He wants to be a doctor.”
Remorse flickered through Mitch. “We’re not arresting him. We just brought him in for questioning.”
“Because of his jacket.”
Mitch rammed his hand through his hair. “No, because he was the last one seen in the operating room.” He glanced at the jacket in question. “Though I hate seeing any gang paraphernalia in Bayview Heights.”
“He didn’t do it.”
“Probably not. We searched him and checked his locker.”
“And found nothing.”
Battaglia picked up his jacket and crossed to the woman, touching her hand gently. “It doesn’t matter, Cassie. I lost the job, anyway. They told me not to come back.”
Too late, Mitch tried to stop his reaction to the boy’s obvious pain, but he wasn’t fast enough to short-circuit it. Damn, he hated dealing with kids.
“Oh, Johnny.” She slid her arm around him. “I’m so sorry.”
The kid leaned into her for a minute, then whispered, “Get me out of here.”
Cassie turned to Mitch. “What do I have to do?”
“Go pick up your stuff in the outer office, Battaglia.” After Johnny left, Mitch retrieved a form from his desk.
“Sign here.”
When she gave it back to him, he scanned it, then said, “You need to fill in the relationship. Who are you?”
“His English teacher.”
Mitch stepped back. “His English teacher? Over at the high school?” He looked down at the signature. “Smith. You’re Cassandra Smith?”
She frowned. “Do we know each other?”
Mitch gave in to the urge to laugh. “Not yet, Ms. Smith.”
“What do you mean?”
“On Monday, I’ll be part of your class for the next ten weeks.”
“You’re joking.”
“I wish I were. You can blame the Resiliency Program cooked up by the school board and the town officials. They seem to think schools working with the police force will help make kids more resilient in dealing with today’s pressures.”
“I’ll never allow you in my classroom,” she said implacably.
“I never thought I’d come.”
o0o
CASSIE SMITH SLAPPED her hand down on the desk. “I won’t do it, Seth.”
“You don’t have any choice.” Her principal, Seth Taylor, was clearly choosing his words carefully; he wasn’t just pushing her buttons. He’d never do that, anyway. Not this man who’d saved her life, not this man who was responsible for her becoming the person—and the teacher—she was. “Now, sit down, take a deep breath and listen to what I have to say.”
She dropped into a chair. “I’m sorry. But a cop? You know how I feel about cops. This one has a history with my students already, and he’s only been in Bayview Heights a few months.”
“Cassie, your feelings about policemen come from things that happened eighteen years ago. You’ve gotten beyond everything else, why not this?”
Before she could respond, his phone buzzed. The principal sighed. “Do you mind if I take this? I’m expecting a call from the superintendent and I’ve had trouble reaching him.”
Cassie shook her head. “No, of course not. Do you want me to leave?”
“That’s not necessary.”
While he took his call, Cassie stood and wandered around the spacious office, comforted by the mahogany furniture and subtly striped wallpaper. On the side table was a picture of Seth’s son, Joey. After his wife died, Seth had raised the boy alone, and they were very close. Above the photo, plaques were proudly displayed on the wall: Outstanding Teacher of the Year, Civic Leader Award, Crime Prevention Scholar. Next to those was a framed inscription Cassie herself had given Seth when she graduated from high school and was on her way to college. It read “One good teacher can change a delinquent into a solid citizen.”
During his years as an English teacher at Bayview Heights High School, Seth Taylor had been the best. Once he’d become principal, he’d started an innovative At-Risk Program, where four teachers worked with the forty least motivated students in the school. Five years ago, he’d convinced Cassie to come back to her alma mater to teach one of the controversial classes. She’d bet her Grateful Dead T-shirt that if the program had been in place when she’d been here as a student, it would have kept her out of trouble.
Instead, she’d had too many run-ins with the Bayview Heights Police Department. She shuddered just thinking about them. Why was a cop coming to participate in her classroom program? And why this particular cop?
“Sorry.” Seth’s voice drew her away from the past. “Now, where were we?”
“You were about to try to convince me that this cop thing is going to fly.” When he started to speak, she held up her hand, palm outward. “No, wait. I know the routine. ‘Cassie, it’s best for the kids. Cassie, think of what it will mean to the program. Cassie, you’ve got to get past your personal bias to make this an experience that will save lives.’”
At forty-five, Taylor had flecks of gray in his dark blond hair and he was a little heavier than when he’d been her English teacher, but his deep blue eyes still twinkled back at her. “Am I that transparent?”
“Yes. It’s how you got me back to Bayview Heights, after all.”
“Lucky for us that I did.”
Cassie blew errant bangs out of her eyes. “Oh, God, I can’t believe this. Me and a cop working together.”
“It might be nice if you called him a police officer. He is a captain, you know.”
“Oh, yes, I know. He’s so by-the-book it’s scary. I saw his attitude toward Johnny firsthand. And then he testified against Amit—who’s barely staying in school—on the dealing charge.”
“As I recall, he saved Amit’s neck by recommending a community service punishment, instead of juvenile detention, so he could stay here as a student.”
Cassie sighed and sank into the chair. “Yeah, that’s true. But he’s just so stiff, so formal. Rules, rules, rules. Do you know how my class will appear to him?”
“You have rules, Cassie.”
“Yeah. Try telling that to Jerry Bosco. He thinks we run a zoo down in hall 400.”
Seth frowned at the mention of the veteran teacher who had vehemently opposed the At-Risk Program. Cassie knew Seth had had run-ins with the man, too, some of them very serious and long-standing. “Bosco’s just jealous of all the money that’s been funneled there.”
“No. He thinks advanced placement kids are the only ones deserving computers, field trips and special programs.”
“Which is what Mitch Lansing is, Cass. Part of a special program. Just like the ones we brought in from business and social services.”
“Why can’t he work with Ross’s math class? Or Jack’s social studies class?”
“You know he can’t. Ross and Jack have done their stints. You and Zoe get to participate this half of the year. And Zoe’s got the artists.”
“Why don’t I have the arts? I use art in English class more than she does in a science class.”
“Because the arts, writing and reading are part of every curriculum, not just language arts.”
Cassie smiled as she listened to Seth expound on his favorite topic. One of the first things he’d done when he became principal at Bayview Heights High School ten years ago was to erase as many lines as he could between the disciplines. Because of him, research papers became the requirement of all subjects, even math; reading and writing were heavily emphasized in each course; and physics teachers participated in the dance workshops and the improvisational theater specials. Seth Taylor had truly helped make Bayview Heights High School an innovative school.
“Then shorten the time. Every day for ten weeks is too much.”
Seth just stared at her.
“All right,” Cassie said with exasperation. “He doesn’t really start today, though, does he? I’ve got to prepare the kids.”
“Yes, he does. We knew something like this was in the works, but I just got word Friday afternoon exactly what kind of program it would be and when it would start. And I didn’t want to ruin your weekend.” He glanced at his watch. “But I’ll stall him here for half of your class. We’ll discuss the program, and I’ll get to know him a little. You can use the first part of that two-hour-block schedule you talked me into to prepare the kids.”
“All right.”
“I’m counting on you, Cass.”
For a minute, Cassie was transported back nineteen years. Seth had stood at her desk after one of his English classes and said those exact words to her. He’d known she was going to take off for good that night, to escape the seediness of the one-room apartment where she lived, the derogatory names people called her and her mother, the consistent failure in school.
She’d been sixteen.
And the man before her had encouraged her to stay, to keep a journal about her life, and he’d insisted she talk to him about everything. Finally he’d arranged legal and professional help for her. Cassie shuddered when she thought about where she’d be if it wasn’t for him.
Glancing down her leg, she caught sight of the small rose tattoo at her ankle. She’d had it done in a grungy tattoo parlor in Greenwich Village when she was fifteen; she kept it as a reminder of what it was like to be one of the kids she now taught.
“Cassie?” Seth’s question brought her back to the present.
“Yeah, I know you’re counting on me. Just like I know that you know exactly what you’re doing when you say that to me, Mr. T.” She used the old name intentionally, and it brought a smile to his face.
“Now go,” he said gruffly. “Unless you want to bump into Lansing.”
Cassie stood and hurried out of the office. She didn’t want to bump into Lansing now, or ever. But damn, she’d do anything for these kids, even it meant letting a cop—correction, a police officer— into her classroom.
o0o
MITCH LANSING WAS NOT a happy man. As he strode down the hallway with the principal of Bayview Heights High School, he cursed the fates that had brought him to this point in his life. How the hell had he ended up here?
When they reached the east wing of the school, the first thing he noticed was the low hum of student voices. There was occasional laughter punctuated by adult comments.
“Here we are.” Taylor knocked on the open door of 401.
Mitch looked around for Ms. Cassie Smith. Had she left the kids alone? They were all in a group in the far left-hand corner of the room. But they weren’t at desks. Some were on couches, some sat on the floor, one perched on top of a table. The area was plushly carpeted and brightly lit by the sun slanting in from uncovered windows behind them. He scanned the walls, taking in some of the posters: “School might be hard, but it’s better than growing up…The thing we call failure is not falling down but staying down…It’s what you learn after you know it all that counts.” He smiled at the sentiments.
Someone unfolded from a zebra-print stuffed chair and came toward them. Mitch’s smile disappeared when he realized who it was. She looked even younger today, probably because of the way she was dressed. Her clothes were casual—checked shorts that looked like a skirt and a long-sleeved wine-colored sweater. He tugged at his tie.
When she reached them, she held out her hand and smiled. Plastic. He knew it matched the one on his face.
“Hello, Captain Lansing.”
“Ms. Smith.”
Taylor stepped farther into the room. Mitch noticed that the kids had continued with whatever they’d been doing when he and the principal had come to the door.
“Silent sharing time?” Taylor asked.
She nodded.
“Can I go over?”
“You can go, but they probably won’t let you see their writing today.” She looked at Mitch. “No offense, Captain, but they aren’t too happy about having a stranger invade their turf. However, they’ve agreed to be civil, and it will work out, I’m sure.”
She didn’t sound sure, Mitch thought. Well, hell, neither was he.
As Taylor crossed to the far corner, the kids glanced up at him. Most greeted him congenially. He spoke to the girl sitting on the desk, and she smiled. He ruffled the hair of two boys who sat on the floor. A kid on the couch tipped his baseball cap to him.
“They’re allowed to wear hats in class?” Mitch asked.
Ms. Smith closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them, they reminded him of an overcast sky in January. “This isn’t a church, Captain.”
“No, but kids should show respect for their school.”
“And taking off your hat shows respect? Not in here. Read the poster over my desk. We have our own definition of respect.”
Mitch scanned the room. “Where’s your desk?”
She pointed to an area to the left. A big gray metal desk sat unobtrusively in the corner. It was covered with folders and papers. Next to it was a tall bookshelf that housed books, picture frames, more folders. Sure enough, on the wall behind her desk was a big poster—beautifully scripted by someone with artistic talent. The word respect was printed vertically, and each letter spun off horizontally into a statement. “R—Rules are for a reason, obey them; E—Expect and return common courtesies; S—Show others you care; P—Put a lid on negative comments, even if you have them; E—Exhibit pride in yourself and let others have theirs; C—Consider the effect your words and actions have on others; T—Take what you need but give what others have to have, too.
After he’d read it, Mitch turned back to the hostile Ms. Smith. Her face was smug. He was about to comment on the definition, when Taylor returned. “Where’s Johnny?”
Ms. Smith threw Mitch a scathing glance. When she looked at Taylor, though, her face showed very real concern and a surprising vulnerability. “No one knows. When we called home, his mother said she hadn’t seen him in three days.”
“Since Friday?”
“Yes.”
“Did you have any contact with him over the weekend?”
“No.” She bit her lip and something inside of Mitch shifted. “I’m worried.”
Taylor reached out and squeezed her shoulder. Not a smart move in these days of sexual harassment cases, Mitch thought.
“I’ll see what I can find out,” the principal told her.
“Thanks.”
As he walked to the door, Taylor said, “Good luck, Mitch. Stop and see me when you’re finished here.”
Mitch nodded, and Taylor left. Casually, Mitch stuck his hands in the pockets of his suit pants pockets and looked at Cassie. “I’m sorry the boy is missing,” he said simply.
“Are you?”
“Yes.” When she said nothing more, he asked, “Well, how do we start?”
Silently, she folded her arms over her chest and leveled wary eyes on him. “With the kids, of course. After all, that’s why you’re here. Come on, I’ll introduce you.” She looked him up and down. “I realize you’ve come to help educate these students, Captain, but you can’t be in class without participating in the activities. Participation is required from everyone.”
He hadn’t planned on that. The idea was mildly alarming. He thought he’d just be an observer on the days he didn’t have to present material. “That was never discussed.”
“Well, it’s a rule in this classroom, Captain. Everyone participates, including the adults. You like rules, don’t you?”
She was toying with him, and that he didn’t like.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said sarcastically.
Accompanying her across the room, he could feel his heartbeat accelerate as he approached the teenagers. Damn, this was hard.
“Okay, everyone,” Ms. Smith said. “This is Captain Lansing from the Bayview Heights Police Department.” Indicating the chair she’d vacated, Cassie said, “Sit here, Captain.”
He sat. As he did, he saw two boys watch his every move with suspicious eyes. Three kids totally ignored him. One girl whispered to another next to her, and they both giggled.
The teacher addressed him. “I’ve told everyone about your stint with us. They have a lot of questions, but I thought we should start by getting acquainted.” She glanced at the clock. “We have an hour left. Let’s play the name game.” When most of them groaned—good naturedly but expressing their reluctance, nonetheless—she made eye contact with each student and got their assent. Then she met his gaze. Hers was direct, no nonsense, confident.
Mitch felt as if he had no choice but to nod, too. “Could you fill me in on the rules first?”
“Each person tells his or her name and shares one significant personal thing with the group. It helps us get to know one another and also will help you learn their names.”
At least he would be all right there. He had a photographic memory. Unfortunately. There were a lot of things he’d give his soul to forget. As he looked around, he squelched the inner warning that working with these teenagers was going to bring back those images. That was why he’d stayed away from adolescents for twenty-five years. That was why he didn’t want to be here now.
“Who would like to start?” Cassie asked, interrupting his reflection. When no one volunteered, she dropped to the floor, clasped her hands in her lap and looked at them. A long, uncomfortable thirty seconds passed before a young girl raised her eyes to the ceiling and said, “Oh, all right. I’ll start.” Cassie gave her a million-dollar smile, which the girl returned. “I’m Jen Diaz.”
“And? One significant thing about yourself?”
Again, the rolled eyes, the stock-in-trade teenage show of disgust. “I, um, just got a new stepfather.”
They went around the room—slowly, some begrudgingly.
“Austyn Jones,” a young black student said. He pulled at the lapels of his sport coat. “And I’m into rags.”
“Clothes,” Cassie said to Mitch.
“I know,” Mitch responded dryly.
“Nikki Parelli,” a sweet-looking redhead volunteered. “And I like to write.”
“Nikki won first place in the literary magazine’s poetry contest last year,” her teacher said proudly.
“Brenda Uter,” a dark-eyed girl said when it was her turn. “And I’m popular.” Everybody laughed, but no one made a smart remark as Mitch expected.
They proceeded like that—Som Choumpa, a young girl from Vietnam who loved clothes and had the same eyes as those that haunted Mitch’s dreams; Amy Anderson, who had a two-year-old child; Joe DeFazio, who took mechanics in a special afternoon program; the sports star Don Peterson; Tara Romig, a dancer; Amit Arga, whom he’d met in court. Two kids were absent, Mike Youngblood and Johnny Battaglia, bringing the total to twelve—an even dirty dozen.
“Your turn, Ms. S.,” Jones said. “And don’t give him nothing stupid. Like you’re a teacher.”
She smiled. “Okay, okay. Let’s see. My name is Cassie Smith,” she began, but Jen Diaz interrupted, “Cassandra…named after the Greek woman who could foretell the future.”
Cassie chuckled. “And I like to play softball.”
“Yeah, she teaches our spring Phys. Ed. unit,” Arga told him.
“Are you certified to do that?” Mitch asked.
She gave him a disgusted look. “The law says you can teach one course out of your certification. Now, how about you, Captain?”
He squared his shoulders and struggled not to wipe his sweaty palms on his pants. How long since he’d been forced into such uncomfortable disclosure? “I’m Captain Lansing.”
“Captain your first name?” the young Italian boy—DeFazio—asked.
Unnerved, Mitch shot back, “No. It’s Mitchell. Mitch Lansing,” he corrected himself, feeling foolish. “And I…Suddenly he was at a loss. What did he tell these kids? Who was he, really? His family came to mind—what was left of it after his parents had died within six months of each other. “I have a brother Kurt. He’s important to me.”
Revealing anything about himself was tough, but the soft approval in Cassie Smith’s eyes made him even more uneasy. He didn’t expect her good favor, didn’t want it.
“Can we ask him some questions now?” Nikki directed the question to her teacher.
Cassie looked to Mitch. “It’s up to him.”
He scanned the kids. How hard could this be? “Sure.”
“You can pass on some if you want,” the young girl told him helpfully.
He gave her a small smile. He was going to like Nikki Parelli. “Fair enough.”
“You the one who arrested Johnny?” Arga asked.
“I didn’t arrest him. I had him brought in for questioning.”
“He lost his job.”
“I was sorry to hear that.”
“Why you here?” the boy continued.
“Because the Bayview Heights Police Department decided it would be good business for the law enforcement agencies to work with the schools. Remember the DARE program when you were younger?” Mitch asked, referring to the statewide anti-drug program the police conducted in the lower grades. Arga nodded. “This is an extension of that. They believe it will help crime prevention and establish better relations between the school and the police department.”
“They?” This was from Peterson, the sports star.
Mitch ducked his head. These kids were quick. “I just came to Bayview Heights six months ago. I guess I’m not fully acclimated.”
“What’s that mean, Ms. S?” Peterson asked.
“He’s not used to being in Bayview Heights yet.”
“Will you be teachin’ us anything?” DeFazio asked.
“Yes. There’s a curriculum of ten lessons, one a week, that I’ll be delivering.”
Their teacher added, “It’s a lot like the other people who came into your science, math and social studies classes. We’re trying to integrate the community into this program and use their expertise to help you.”
“Yeah, I liked that social worker broad,” Peterson said. “She was great lookin’.”
“I liked her because she helped me out, you know, at home,” Som Choumpa said.
“And the business guy, he got me the job at the garage.” This from DeFazio.
“See,” Cassie told them. “Some good things came out of those programs. Captain Lansing has a lot to offer, I’m sure.”
The lady doth protest too much, Mitch thought. He seemed to be the only one to catch the note of uncertainty in her voice.
“Where were you before, if you just came to Bay-view Heights?” popular Brenda asked.
“I worked in New York City. On their police force.”
A few of the kids whistled. “Yeah? You ever kill anybody?” Jones asked.
Not as a cop. “I pass.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cassie studying him critically.
“What did you do in the city?”
“I worked in vice. Then, for several years, in the narcotics unit.”
“Hey, DeFazio, you better watch out.”
He saw Cassie stiffen and quell the kids with just one look. Amused in spite of himself, Mitch thought he’d shut up, too, if she looked at him like that.
“How old are you?” Amy asked.
“Forty-six.”
“That’s old. Even Mr. T ain’t that old,” Arga teased. “Why you still a cop?”
What else would I do? “I like it. But I wanted a change, so I left my job in the city and decided to come out here.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s a slower pace.” He smiled. “Because I’m old.”
They laughed. “Why here?” Jen asked.
“Because your chief of police is a long-time friend of mine.” Who tricked me into working with you kids.
And he had to be tricked into this. Interacting with these teenagers had already caused a little bit of the wall around his heart to crack. He didn’t want to care. He couldn’t afford to care.
He’d cared once and it had ripped him apart.
o0o
CASSIE WATCHED MITCH straighten his paisley tie, pull up the legs of his trousers and sit down on a straight chair. He was armored with his suit, tie and wing tips again today. She was only partly amused by his stuffed-shirt demeanor. Mostly, it raised her old fears.
They’d had an inauspicious beginning with Johnny’s visit to the police station Friday night and then with Lansing’s attitude yesterday—they wear hats? for God’s sake—but she’d hoped today would be better. If this program was going to work, she had to readjust her attitude.
And he had to participate. She insisted he do the activities right along with the kids. He’d looked displeased, almost fearful, but he’d done them. Right now, his green eyes were as cool as dewy summer grass, watching her intently.
She addressed the class from where she sat on top of a desk. “It’s time to start, everyone. May I have your attention, please.” On the signal, the kids quieted down. “The quote’s on the board. Write.” She walked over and handed Mitch Lansing a black notebook and pen. “This is a journal. It’s a very important tool in language arts instruction. We begin every class by writing. You can use the quote on the board, relate it to what you’re feeling, or you can write about anything that’s on your mind.” She smiled, trying to make it a pleasant one. “Then we share, so don’t write something you don’t want anyone else to see.” That had been the biggest source of resistance she’d had with the kids. That they had to share with a stranger and a police officer.
“No passing today?” he asked.
“You can always pass, but it’s not a good example to set for the students.”
His chagrin made her bite her lip to hold back the mirth. She wasn’t here to rile him, even though she really wanted to. His uptight attire, his proclivity for rules, his staid manner just begged to be taunted.
Which was why she’d chosen the quote for the day. “Rules were not made to be broken. But they need to be examined carefully.”
Lansing reached into his pocket, drew out a pair of glasses and settled them on his nose. He looked nice in them—scholarly. He had a honed body, big and powerful, and she imagined he used his strength and muscle skillfully.
She sat down on the floor next to Brenda to write. Yesterday, all the girls had been abuzz over Captain Lansing’s physical attributes. “Hunk…stud…totally rad…”
Reluctantly, Cassie admitted that his perfectly cut dark hair, sprinkled with gray, the cleft in his chin and those chiseled features were appealing—in a Jim Cazeivel kind of way.
Forcing herself to stop thinking about him, she began to write, analyzing why she balked so much at rules. Why she felt such a need to buck the system. Wondering how, at thirty-five, she could still be such a misfit. As usual, putting things in words clarified and released her feelings. Ten minutes passed, then the door opened.
Johnny Battaglia sauntered in. If Cassie didn’t know the kid so well, she’d be tempted to take him down a peg or two. If she didn’t care so much, she’d scold him for being late. But she was lucky he was here at all, and she knew it. At seventeen, he’d already dropped out once.
And she was going to save him if it was her last act on this earth.
Johnny closed the door quietly and headed straight for her. Cassie smiled at him, though it was hard. The boy’s face was drawn, lines of fatigue marring his youthful brow, bracketing his sulking mouth. His shoulders sloped with weariness. When he met her eyes, he gave her a weak grin. And she knew in her gut that the last few days had been hell for him.
According to procedure, he put the late pass in the envelope on the wall behind her, signed in, then settled onto the floor. She handed him his journal. As he opened it, he glanced around.
And spotted Mitch Lansing.
Johnny’s entire body tensed. Reaching out, Cassie touched his arm and squeezed it. He looked over at her, the sudden flare of anger in his eyes making her heart stutter. She watched him warily.
She could see him struggling with himself.
So she stood, inclined her head to a little alcove designed for private consultations, and drew him over to it while the others kept writing.
“What the hell is he doing here?” Johnny asked in a whisper.
She cocked her head at his language. All the teachers insisted on no cursing or obscenities in front of them, or in class.
“Sorry,” Johnny said.
“If you’d been here yesterday, you’d have heard the entire explanation. I’ll give you a shortened version.”
When she was done, his dark brown eyes were even more tumultuous. “You gotta be kidding me.” His voice rose, and everyone looked over. Cassie moved in between the other students and Johnny.
“I’m not working with any cops. Especially not him.” He looked around the room, his eyes bleak. “Especially not here.” Then he focused on her. “Why, Ms. S? Why here? This is the only place I feel…” He stopped, but Cassie knew what he was going to say. This was the only place he felt accepted, comfortable, different from being on the street. It was, really, his only chance to go straight. Cassie knew personally, and from having read the statistics, that success outside of the home—and it usually meant doing well and fitting in at school— was one of the most important factors in at-risk kids graduating from high school and becoming productive members of the community.
“Johnny, we don’t have any say. The school board decided to implement this program. He’ll only be in language arts class for the next ten weeks.”
“Then I won’t be.”
“What?” Cassie gripped his arm.
Roughly, Johnny shrugged it off. “You heard me. I won’t be.” He stepped out from behind her and faced the now avidly attentive group. His cold stare zeroed in on Mitch Lansing. “If he stays, I’m gone.”
With that, Johnny Battaglia strode out of the room.
To read excerpts from the other three novels in this volume go to: