Box of 1Night Stands: 17 Sizzling Nights

by Sabrina York

  She craned her neck to admire his perfection. He wore a peaceful smile and nothing else. He moaned. God, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this safe in a man’s arms. Usually, this would be the time doubt settled in. She sighed and snuggled back into comfort. He stirred, wrapping around her tighter still, and kissed her neck.

  “Hmm I could get used to this.”

  “What?”

  “Waking up next to a beautiful woman.”

  He leaned forward and put his soft lips to hers. Gentle, loving. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear she’d fallen in love with the guy. But that couldn't be. She knew nothing about him, and he could break her heart by leaving her for another. Uncertainty swirled in her mind, and she allowed herself to indulge in his loving embrace for only seconds longer before leaping out of bed.

  “Breakfast, I’m starving.”

  “Order whatever ya want on room service...oh, and get some coffee.”

  Rachel dialed down to the kitchen and ordered the continental breakfast for two with coffee. Now what? She didn’t want to snuggle anymore. In fact, she wanted to go home and forget that she’d hooked up with a complete stranger and had silly romantic feelings toward him. She wasn’t ready for this and had no idea what on earth had made her think otherwise. She glanced toward the bed; he’d fallen back to sleep. Thank God for that. I can grab a shower and get the heck out of here.

  Refreshed after a quick rinse down, she sneaked back into the room. But the rumpled bed sat empty. That put the stop to her quick and non-awkward escape. She clutched the damp towel hugging her body and scanned the room for Shaun. He sat at the table pouring milk into a cup of steaming brew.

  “Coffee, beautiful?”

  “Thanks. Milk, two sugars.” She got dressed in a flash—a simple boob tube, jeans, and flip flops—and collected her clothes that were scattered throughout the room before ramming them into her bag.

  “Here ya go.” Shaun smiled and passed her a cup. Uh-oh. She knew that smile. He wanted her to stay. Worse part was, she also wanted that.

  She took a couple of mouthfuls of coffee then set it down. “Gotta go. But thanks for a fantastic night, Shaun.” She kissed him on the head like a pet poodle before grabbing a croissant and her bag.

  “Drop by Bell’s for an Irish Kiss anytime. The best in England.”

  She didn’t register his words until she’d left him and the elevator began shifting downward. Floor by floor, the shaft took her toward the lobby. She had one thing on her mind, and one thing only. Should she run back up to Shaun, break the one-night rule she'd set for herself, and go for a second night? He obviously wanted to see her again, he’d made that pretty clear. But each time she gave herself the same answer. She wasn’t ready to give her heart over to some sexy Irishman who could be her soul mate, or not. She didn’t want to have to go through the crap and hurt her mother had. She didn’t have that kind of strength.

  Chapter Seven

  “It’s been a week, Shaun, snap out of it would ya?” Devlin punched him in the arm, a friendly, though hurtful gesture. He meant well. But Shaun didn’t want to give up on Rachel. Not yet. He would find her, he knew it, felt it in his gut.

  “I could email the agency again?”

  “For God sakes, man, they can’t give ya her personal information. They’ve told ya that five times already, so they have.” Devlin threw his arms in the air in defeat and sauntered around the packed pub to collect empties.

  “Ay, I should move on.” Shaun mixed up a Black Russian and gave it to a punter before taking his money. He vaguely heard him say thank you. That’s what it had been like since his night with Rachel. He should have seen it coming. She seemed as if she had a lot of shit to get over. Like he didn’t? And now he had her to get over, too.

  He’d constantly walked in Daydream Land since Rachel, life passing him by, until he heard Devlin’s voice chat up a lass—he would know that distinctive cockney sass anywhere.

  “Rachel?” She stood in the open doorway of his pub, smiling sheepishly at him and wearing a bright green shirt decorated with some four leaf clover symbol and Irish style writing.

  “I’m here for an Irish Kiss. Is Shaun serving tonight? I hear he makes a wicked sweet one.” She spoke to Devlin, but her sight was locked on him.

  “Ay, lass, let me buy that for ya.”

  “You must be Devlin. He said you were a cheeky one.” She strode toward the bar, leaving his friend with a bar towel over his shoulder and a confused expression on his face. He shrugged. Shaun laughed a little then held his breath, clutching the bar for support. She headed straight for him. Nothing stopping her. Not the drunks or the tables. Until she slipped on a spilled drink and almost went tits over ass. Thankfully, the Black Russian drinker nearby caught her in time. She giggled and shrugged. She really needed someone to take care of her. Shaun hoped it would be him.

  “Rachel?” He beamed. “What’s with the shirt?” Smooth, Shaun, smooth.

  “Thought I’d coordinate with your pub. You like?” She stretched it out so he could read the words, but he already knew what it said.Kiss Me, I’m Irish. Only she’d crossed out the I’m and had written You’re in its place.

  “Who do ya want to kiss ya? Devlin? I’m sure he’ll oblige.” The bartender scurried over upon mention of his name and nodded like a crazed loony tune.

  “You, Shaun, silly. Now, about that Sweet Irish Kiss?”

  “Did ya come here for a drink? Or a date?”

  “A date is a good start. So long as it finishes with a kiss, and perhaps a flavored condom further down the line? I never did get to try them.”

  “Ya kinda left me with the impression that ya weren’t ready for a relationship.”

  “Hell, if you’re turning her down, I’ll take ya place.” Devlin jumped beside Rachel.

  “Stand down, Dev. I mean...fuck,” he ushered her to join him behind the bar, “I can’t believe ya here. I’ve been thinking of ya ever since.”

  “I’m not ready for just anyone. But I am ready for you.... Promise me something?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Don’t ever cheat on me. If you’ve had enough, say so, and we can call it quits. Okay?”

  “Rachel, that’ll never happen.”

  “You never know.”

  “I know I’d never do that. Me ex-wife fooled around on me, and it’s not a nice feeling. Not at all.”

  “Aww, poor baby.” Rachel entwined her fingers in his. “Can we take it slow?”

  “I like the sound of that, so I do.” Shaun smiled, tightened his grip around her hand, and gave her that Sweet Irish Kiss she’d come looking for. But this one didn’t involve a bottle of Irish Cream. It would later, though. Shaun grinned, imagining sliding ice coated in Baileys over Rachel’s curves and watching them melt with her sensational body heat.

  ~ABOUT THE AUTHOR~

  JoAnne Kenrick, an ex-Ghost Tour Guide and Holistic Therapist, is a Welsh lass who has lived in various countries around the world. She now calls North Carolina her home, where she lives with her husband, two children and a lazy cat. When they aren’t demanding her attention, she can most likely be found watching a vampire movie, reading or baking up a British feast in her N.C. kitchen. That is, when she isn’t writing or chatting up a storm on social networking sites.www.joannekenrick.com

  A Dance with Death

  A 1Night Stand Story

  By

  Louisa Bacio

  ~DEDICATION~

  Many thanks to Christine Ashworth and Mary Ann Morris for your honest advice, to my editor Kate Richards for pushing me to new levels, and to Heather Bennett for your continued friendship. Finally, for all those readers of A Date with Death, who wanted to see more.

  Chapter One

  The slick soles of his new shoes slid on the carpet, sending Raul flying down the stairs headfirst. His hand brushed the polished rail, nails scraping the banister, before it slipped off. He cursed.

  “Shit.”

  His elb
ow crunched into the unrelenting wood, and he continued to tumble. With legs splayed, he crashed his knee onto the side panel. For a scant ten steps, an eternity of pain passed in slow motion. He couldn’t stop. Screams stuttered in a huh-huh-huh expulsion of breath.

  Isabella, the beauty he was supposed to spend the evening with…. Would she arrive at the resort, ready for an adventurous weekend, only to be stood up, and him rotting broken on his home foray?

  If he’d known the simple trip-and-fall would lead to his demise, he would have fought harder.

  He hit, full force, head slamming against the cold, hard ceramic tile, arm twisting up and over with a sharp snap. As his ribs smashed against the floor, the air left his lungs and he gasped in much-needed air. He wasn’t immortal after working with down-on-their luck teens. He didn’t live within a movie, where the guy always earned a second chance, especially where love was concerned.

  He thought of Marcus and Justin—two kids he couldn’t save, gunned down in violence. Had they died afraid? He wasn’t ready to go.

  This can’t be the end. I have places to go, and a gorgeous woman to see. A night of pleasure to experience.

  Lying crumpled, Raul remembered Madame Evangeline and her 1Night Stand dating service. She’d promised to deliver. Delirious, he fantasized she would hear the plea for leniency and allow his date to continue. He’s asked for clemency a few times in his life and been rejected. Why would this moment would be any different?

  The familiar click of nails on the tile floor echoed in his rattled brain. Ranger nudged his master with a wet nose. With a remaining bit of energy, Raul attempted to push the faithful shepherd aside, but couldn’t manage to lift an arm. Legs askew, and a searing pounding across the back of his head, he mumbled a weak, “help,” and blacked out.

  Part of his spirit consciousness hovered, watching his twisted body, and wondering what the hell he was doing. If Death claimed him at thirty-three, shouldn’t he be moving onto someplace else? A fall down like that should have killed him. So why didn’t he do the disappearing act? Good lord, was he destined to remain at home, forever haunting the damn place?

  Let him pass Go, collect two hundred dollars, and move on to Heaven.

  Or maybe some unfinished business held him in place. Things in life he still wanted to accomplish. The ghost form spying on his lifeless body didn’t care. He’d rather go wherever he needed to be than stay here forever.

  ***

  Why was she going out on a blind date? Isabella never dated. Never had time to meet men, despite being surrounded by them often enough. As the lead ballerina in the South Coast Ballet Company, she’d attracted plenty of attention. Showered in roses on stage, but never asked out.

  Now? Well, what else did she have to look forward to these days?

  Her career was finished. Just like that. Kaput. Finito. No matter what language she said it in, she was washed up at twenty-eight. Oh, the company hadn’t fired her outright. No. They’d put her on paid leave. Might as well serve her a death-of-dancing card. Dance monopolized her life. Without it, what would she do?

  Juliana, her sister, had recommended the 1Night Stand dating service. She worked in marketing with a man, Reece, who’d recently found his soul mate, Maise, through the business. With all of Isabella’s free time, Juliana thought she should do something for herself. One night, after a few glasses of wine—another pleasure she never got to enjoy in the middle of performance season—she’d filled out the application and submitted it to Madame Eve. Isabella didn’t expect a happily-ever-after, but a few happily-for-now orgasms would do her well and lift her mood.

  Yesterday, she’d received a match-up. The absurdly short notice surprised her. Well, it wasn’t like she had a full dance card. Ha ha. The years stacked up, and she couldn’t continue to waltz through life.

  Her potential date, Raul, composed and sometimes choreographed music videos. Of course, Madame Eve would expect Isabella to be attracted to someone who worked in the dance industry, but didn’t she know the high culture world of classical ballet and low-culture videos didn’t match? Seriously. What if he directed hip-hop? Isabella shuddered.

  ***

  Raul leaned over the railing of the open-air hallway, gazing out over the great expanse of the Pacific Ocean. How the hell did I get here?

  Someone touched his shoulder, and he jumped.

  “I’m sorry to startle you, but you were not responding. Can I be of service?”

  A man stood before him. Raul assessed the potential danger. The man’s slicked back dark hair showed great restraint, as if he liked everything to be controlled, even by the damp beach. If he hadn’t been speaking, Raul would have described him as brooding. He possessed deep, soulful eyes hinting at a haunted past. A shadow passed over the guy’s face, and Raul shuddered. Death. Something about him embodied the darkness of the other world. The other man grinned, and Raul shook off the feeling. That was strange.

  “My name is Johnny Castillo, and I’m here to help you.”

  “Where am I?”

  “Castillo Resort at the Dana Point Cliffs. Do you have a reservation with us?”

  He checked the date on his watch. “Yes, but I don’t remember getting here.”

  “Ah, these things can tend to be a surprise. You wouldn’t believe some of the things I see here. As long as you have reservations, you’ve arrived on time.”

  Raul cocked an eyebrow, curious to hear stories of hookups past.

  “But I can’t share any of those; client privilege, of course.”

  “Of course,” he repeated, his voice sounding flat to his own ears.

  “Let me show you to your quarters. I believe your guest has already arrived.”

  Isabella. He stumbled, and Johnny took his elbow to guide him down the hall. Raul had set up the illicit rendezvous as a sort of a lark. He didn’t know what to expect after filling out the forms, but it had been quite a while since he’d gone out with someone. All the women in his life tended to want something from him, and for once, he wanted the pleasure of a woman’s company, and touch, without her knowing his connections—or thinking about what he could do for her career. He could have his pick of beautiful women who’d get into bed with him for a chance of a role in one of his productions. He’d been there, done that.

  Lately, though, he’d hit a bit of a dry spell. In the bedroom and in his music room. He missed the spark of joy that came with creating something new. Ranger remained his true companion, and delight. When he’d taken the dog for a walk last week, the animal picked up a square of card stock and brought it to him, as if delivering some delicious treat. It was a business card for the dating service.

  “Are you trying to tell me something, old boy?” he’d asked.

  The dog sat back on his haunches, placed one paw on Raul’s knee, and barked. Damned if even his dog didn’t think of him as a pathetic loser, lost within his music, and he didn’t even have that.

  He shouldn’t be there. He had somewhere more important to be. If only he could remember what he needed to do. The thought eluded him. Then again, he wanted to enjoy the experience. The evening represented a new beginning, a return to the world.

  “Sir?” the manager asked, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Are you going to knock on the door, or have you changed your mind?”

  The man’s question broke Raul out of his thoughts. “Um, no. I’m thinking,” he said. “I just need a few moments. You can go.”

  Johnny bowed to him. “If I can be of any further service this evening, please do not hesitate to call the front desk.”

  “Thanks.”

  Alone, Raul froze on the spot. He’d seen photos of Isabella, but being there in the flesh revved his engine. Once he knocked, and she answered, there would be no going back. Knuckles raised, he rapped on the wood.

  As his date for the evening opened the door, Raul resisted the urge to pick her up, and twirl her. She reached to about mid-chest: petite, compact, and slender. Adorable and sultry. Her smile falter
ed.

  “Oh, it’s you.” Disappointment infused her voice.

  Raul turned to look behind him then rubbed his hand against his ribcage, soothing an ache brought on by her tone. What did I get myself into? “Do I know you?”

  “I auditioned for one of your music videos.”

  Ah. That explained it. Hadn’t he asked for no one within the industry? Madame Eve might have something up her sleeve if she’d set him up with a dancer. He sighed and put on his best performance smile. He wanted the night to work.

  “Listen, I’m not sure what’s happened between us in the past. I can promise I didn’t reject you personally. It was only….”

  “Business. Yeah. I’ve heard it before. Did you register for this service under a fake name?” A flush of red crept up her chest, and brightened her cheeks.

  What would she look like after some strenuous activity? “No, this is my real name.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect you.” She stepped aside. “You might as well come in.”

  Not the welcome he’d anticipated.

  Chapter Two

  Sauntering in like he’s all that and more. The big music video producer who had rejected her not once, but twice. He appeared different in his picture than he did in real life. The bio showed a clean-cut businessman, sitting behind a desk. The man in front of her came from the same streets as many of his clients. Isabella had trained in ballet and jazz, but a few years earlier she’d read a call for auditions for a video for a rock interpretation of the The Nutcracker, and she’d decided to try out. One look at her boyish figure, and she’d been cut. Okay, maybe an assistant had made the decision, but still, the cuts came from the same place. Who knew they would be casting big-breasted ballet dancers? As if they could keep their balance on pointe with top-heavy silicone.