Box of 1Night Stands: 17 Sizzling Nights

by Sabrina York

  He weighed telling her the truth. Being with her felt like an out-of-body experience. Not that he’d dreamt her, but he wasn’t really there. How could they have shared so much, and it not be real? Wouldn’t his body disintegrate, or something?

  Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at her. She’d swept her hair up in a sloppy ponytail, some wisps already falling around her face. The long, graceful neck. How he loved kissing right behind her ears. And her smell. He could soak in the orange and vanilla scents all day.

  He had to stop wasting time. To take a chance on this, on them, he needed to do it right then.

  “The last thing I remember before coming here was walking down my stairs at home, and then something happened. I tripped, twisted, tumbling…and Ranger, my dog, was licking my face.”

  “Oh my goodness, Raul. Are you all right? I mean, did anything we did last night hurt you more? I had no idea you were injured.”

  “No. Yes. That’s not what I meant. It’s the last thing I remember, before appearing here. I don’t remember getting up, or driving here. I was there, and then here.”

  “You blacked out?” She rested her delicate hand on his arm. So real and reassuring. Maybe he needed an extended vacation. He sounded insane, or worse. Talk about a cop-out: Hey, we had a great time, but I think you’re in my imagination. If I live, can I see you again?

  “Maybe. But I’m not sure I ever woke up.”

  Next to him, she stilled, searching his expression. Hell. He wiped his face.

  “It’s not a joke. I know it sounds weird. I’m not one for all that metaphysical stuff. You know, psychic abilities and all, but I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “Raul, if you don’t want to see me again, I understand.”

  She stood up, and he grabbed for her

  “That’s the thing. I do want to see you again. More than anything. We could have had so much more time together, if our paths had crossed sooner.”

  “So what are you saying? Because right now, I’m not feeling very positive.”

  He sighed, letting out his frustrations. “Okay, so can you do me a favor?”

  Chapter Seven

  Isabella dashed up the walkway, scanning the flowerbeds for the colored rock. There, hidden under some overgrown leaves. As she picked it up, a few bugs crawled away. She brushed off the excess dirt and slid open the hidden panel. The key plopped into her hand with a sort of finality. She climbed the last few steps to the front door and hesitated. Before she left the resort, he’d instructed her on how to get into the house, and handle his dog. But, what if she had it all wrong? What if she was crazy and none of the events of the past day had happened? She inspected the front yard. Everything appeared as Raul had described.

  With a sudden burst of courage, she knocked on the door. A dog barked, loud and warning. After waiting a few beats, she stuck the key in the lock and shut her eyes. Here goes nothing.

  Click. The door swung inward.

  Grrrr. A large shepherd growled. Raul’s massive security dog stood over a body lying limp on the staircase. Raul.

  “It’s all right, Ranger. It’s all right,” she cooed, taking a slow step inside. She struggled to remember the term to stand down. He didn’t appear to be in attack mode, only worried about his master.

  Praising his protection, she said, “Zei brav.” Then, she created a fist and curled her arm toward her chest. “Sitz.”

  Ranger sat on his haunches and tilted his head to the side, watching her.

  She approached him and Raul, keeping an eye on the dog with each step. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if he were to have her for lunch. “Good puppy.” The shepherd smelled her hand and gazed at her with deep, sorrowful eyes. He pushed her with his muzzle, glanced at his master and whined.

  The gentle rise and fall of Raul’s chest reassured Isabella. She stooped, and touched his shoulder.

  “Raul, are you there? Wake up.”

  Nothing. Did she expect him to wake as if by magic? Hmmm. She leaned in, placed a kiss on his dry lips and sat back. Waited. Nope. She wasn’t a once-upon-a-time princess, either.

  Pulling her cell phone out of her purse, she dialed 9-1-1. “Hello, I’d like to report an emergency.”

  The second she hit end, Raul opened his eyes. “Isabella?” he croaked.

  She jumped back at the sound of his voice. “You’re awake!”

  “You came.”

  Ranger nudged between her and his master, and lapped at Raul’s face. Her Latin lover laid a palm on the dog’s snout. “Stop, no more kisses.”

  “I called an ambulance, and it’s on the way. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to move.”

  Raul touched his forehead. “My head and arm are throbbing.”

  “I expect a fall down the stairs wouldn’t feel very good. Can I get you anything?”

  “Water. In the fridge.”

  A sip of water shouldn’t hurt him. She made her way to the kitchen. Some wilting flowers rested on the counter, still in their plastic packet. Had he meant to bring those to her? Something about the thought saddened her. What if she hadn’t gone? Where would that have left Raul? Dead.

  She opened the refrigerator, taking in the non-bachelor-like supplies. Raul seemed to like to cook, and yogurt and fruit stocked the shelves. Impressive. As she walked back to the entranceway, the sound of sirens echoed. She twisted the cap off the bottle, and held it to his lips.

  “Thank you,” he said. “You saved me.”

  “My motives were not altruistic. I think you promised me a second date.”

  Laugh lines crinkled at the corners of his eyes. “No more one-night stands. You’re mine.”

  “What a hopeless romantic you are. Shhh, rest,” she soothed, trying to still her anxiety. “We have plenty of time.”

  The paramedics rushed in, and Isabella stepped back to let them do their work. Throughout the chaos, Raul kept eye contact with her.

  “He’s got a broken arm, and it looks like, he got knocked out. Right now, his vitals are good, but we’re going to take him into the hospital for a few tests and observation,” the paramedic said, glancing at a clipboard.

  “Can I follow you?” Isabella asked.

  “What’s your relationship with the patient?”

  “She’s my leading lady. My love,” Raul said, holding out his good hand.

  She grabbed it, and gave him a light squeeze. A sense of relief, happiness, and love overwhelmed her. “What he said.”

  “Significant other,” the paramedic said, checking a box on a form.

  “Do me a favor?” Raul asked her.

  “Anything.” She’d climb mountains. Swim rivers. Dance hip hop. Didn’t he know?

  “Can you feed Ranger? He’s probably hungry. And grab my wallet upstairs.”

  Isabella stood at the front door, a loyal dog by her side, watching the ambulance take Raul away. Her life had changed so fast, she felt dizzy from the joy of it.

  She might not know what she’d be doing in the coming years, but she knew who she’d be doing it with.

  ~ABOUT THE AUTHOR~

  Louisa Bacio is the author of six erotic novels, including the paranormal series The Vampire, The Witch & The Werewolf, and numerous steamy short stories.

  Bacio enjoys soaking up the sun in Southern California, and spending time with her family. In addition to writing and editing, Bacio teaches college courses in English, journalism, film studies and popular culture.

  You can visit Louisa at:

  www.louisabacio.com

  The Two and the Proud

  A 1Night Stand Story

  Always a Marine - Book 8

  By

  Heather Long

  Chapter One

  Rain poured in great sheets as thunder rumbled and the occasional flash of lightning burnt his retinas. Rowdy checked the GPS for the third time when he swung into the carport outside the hotel. The Castillo Washington was a five-star luxury hotel parked squarely in downtown D.C. Fifteen minutes behind s
chedule; he was still thirty minutes early for his date. He preferred early to late. Handing his keys to the valet along with a tip, he took the claim ticket.

  The interior of the hotel appeared as luxurious as all the advertisements boasted. Parquet floors, vaulted ceilings, crystal chandeliers, and a dozen intimately arranged seating areas. Shops lined one wall, offering designer clothes, shoes, purses, and souvenirs for hotel guests. Signs pointed in the direction of the front desk and the hotel’s various lounges.

  Rowdy bypassed all of them and took a seat on a comfortable sofa outside the dark, moody Aces. It was after happy hour, but the business crowd inside remained thick.

  A waitress scooted over to him. “What can I get for you?”

  He blew out a breath. He’d debated this on the drive over. He enjoyed a good glass of wine, having grown up drinking his family’s personal vintage. But years in the Corps turned him on to various types of beer—and he enjoyed those even more. “Sam Adams. Bottle.” He added the last before she asked.

  “Of course.” She set a napkin down on the table next to him and strode off, her hips swaying despite the briskness of her pace. Unbuttoning his jacket, he pulled out his phone, thumbing it over to the email box. He checked his watch and nodded. Still early, which gave him time to scan the crowd and observe his date as she arrived.

  The waitress returned with his beer, and he gave her a credit card to open a tab. He was on his second swallow when a woman in a dark blue dress sashayed in. She surveyed the lobby, and the tables around him. For the briefest of moments, their gazes collided, but she moved on and waved at someone behind him. He washed back his amusement with another drink.

  A trickle of female arrivals streamed past—they glanced at him or gave him a flirtatious smile but continued on to other destinations and plans. At five minutes past the appointed date time, annoyance crept in. Fifteen minutes passed and annoyance settled in his gut along with his beer.

  He checked his phone for other messages—still nothing. The tables around him filled. But he wasn’t the only one sitting alone. Two tables over, a devastating redhead with relaxed posture studied the crowd. Dressed in a pair of jeans, suit jacket, and white button down shirt, she faded into the setting—which made no damn sense. She was one hell of a looker. Rowdy’s eyes narrowed—she wasn’t watching the crowd.

  She stared at him.

  The corners of her mouth curved into a mysterious smile and she saluted him with her beer.

  He nodded and glanced down at his phone when it vibrated.

  The mail flag signaled and he thumbed it open.

  Feel free to join me.

  His eyebrows climbed. It was a forwarded message—from the 1Night Stand service.

  Slanting another look at the redhead, he lifted his eyebrows and she grinned. Intrigued, he grabbed his bottle and walked over to the sofa she claimed. “Good evening.”

  “Good evening.” Amusement twisted between the words. She stood and stretched out her hand. “And let me begin this introduction with an apology…Kim Wakefield.”

  “Hello, Kim Wakefield. Rowdy Easton.”

  Her firm grip was warm, soft, and perfunctory. A lot like the woman herself. Despite her attempt to cover up her femininity, she only emphasized it. Of course, maybe she hadn’t attempted to disguise it. Women didn’t have to wear dresses on dates.

  “You look a little confused.” She held his hand longer than was necessary, but he didn’t mind.

  “Curious. Not confused.”

  She released her grip and disappointment surged through him. A second curiosity, but he set it aside for the time being. She motioned to the sofa next to her, and he waited for her to sit before taking the center cushion. It put him right in her space—and what an alluring space it was.

  “What’s got you curious?” She leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. She wore boots, laced tight, low heeled, and sensible. He knew expensive shoes and he knew combat boots—hers looked like a combination of the two.

  “You.” He studied her face. Surprisingly, she didn’t have green eyes so traditionally associated with red hair. Instead, her eyes were almost the color of amber. Under the low overhead lighting, they gleamed like polished gemstones.

  “Me?” She lifted her brows.

  “Oh, yeah. You.” The waitress paused next to them and he held up two fingers. “Another Sam Adams and whatever the lady is having.”

  “Corona Extra, two limes please,” Kim supplied and gave an amused snort after the waitress walked away. “I am not her favorite person.”

  “Why is that?” Did she know the waitress personally? He glanced briefly in the other woman’s direction.

  “She stared at you the whole time and you didn’t look away from me. Thank you, by the way. It’s a very nice compliment.” Kim moved with the bare minimum of excess. Her relaxed expression couldn’t hide the sharp assessment in her eyes or the air of expectancy wrapped around her.

  “You’re welcome.” He linked his fingers together. The date arrangements they’d agreed on said drinks first. They could take their conversation to their reserved room after. Cocktails and conversation seemed a good way to kick off the night. So where did the sudden impatience curling through his gut come from?

  “You still look…what was the word you used? Curious?” The low, smoky quality to her voice teased the hell out of him. But then so did her mysterious amusement.

  “Definitely curious.” The waitress returned with their fresh beer bottles, served them, and he waited for her to leave before continuing. “Why does a woman like you need a service like this?”

  “It’s not about need.” She met his question with complete candor. “It’s about want. We don’t really live in a society where you can walk up to someone and say, ‘nice shoes, want to fuck?’”

  He damn near choked on his beer. Coughing once, he slid a sideways look at her. The amusement in her expression increased. “No?”

  “Nope.” She leaned forward and looked at his shoes pointedly. “By the way, nice shoes.”

  He laughed.

  Kim Wakefield was an enigma—but damn, what a sexy one. He lifted his bottle, and they clinked bottlenecks in salute. “I like yours, too.”

  It was her turn to chuckle and the sound rippled over him, a sensuous caress like nails stroking his spine. He took a long pull of the drink and settled back against the sofa. “So what do you do?”

  “The boring work conversation. Hmm. Not the best opening play.” She winked and took a long drink.

  “Hard to top the shoes,” he countered.

  “True. But you could at least try….”

  Is she challenging me? All right. “Does the rug match the drapes?” Embarrassment pricked him, but he ignored it and tossed the gauntlet down brazenly. She threw her head back and laughed again, the rich sound applauding his effort, but he didn’t count it a success until her amused amber gaze met his again.

  “I could answer—but I get the sense you’re the kind of man who likes to fact check.”

  Bold. Brassy. Brilliant.

  He liked her.

  “Yes, ma’am. I do.”

  “Good, I prefer a man willing to work for what he wants.” She rolled her tongue over her lower lip. “Moment of truth time.”

  “Oh?” After their rather bawdy, albeit bizarre, conversation—she wanted truth?

  “I work for NCIS. Is that going to be a problem for you?”

  The Naval Criminal Investigative Service. She was a cop.

  His whole body revved.

  Rowdy’s nostrils flared and his pupils dilated. His visible, physical reaction to where she worked and what she did for a living zinged her like a shock of static electricity. The clenched fist in her gut relaxed. Too often when men found what she did, they retreated or worse, they looked patronizing. The Marine sergeant did neither. He leaned closer.

  “How long?” Even better, he didn’t ask the typical follow-up question.

  “A few years. I got friendly with
the agent onboard during my float on the Tortuga.” She cradled her beer bottle in her hands, twisting it back and forth. The cold moisture cooled the sudden warmth in her palms.

  “No way you were a sailor.” The corners of his mouth curved.

  “Hell, no. We stole the eagle from the Air Force, the anchor from the Navy, and the rope from the Army.” She lifted her eyebrows and waited. He didn’t need long.

  “On the seventh day when God rested, we took the perimeter and stole the globe and we’ve been running the show ever since.” Their bottles clinked together in a toast. “Fighters by day….”

  “Lovers by night. Drunkards by choice.” She finished it, joining him in the final act of the refrain. “And a United States Marine by an act of God.”

  They tipped their bottles back and drained them before setting them aside. Her face almost ached from the smile, but she was right. All the background info she dug through on the 1Night Stand service and the security clearance request she filed were worth it. They hadn’t made it out of the lounge and for the first time in months, she relaxed.

  “Seriously, why NCIS?”

  “Counterterrorism, investigation, keeping the Navy and the Marines safe here and abroad—it worked for me.” She licked her lips. “I like being a Marine. I liked serving, but I wanted to do more, too. The funny thing was, the agent afloat was this real player. He was forever taking women out when we were in port and he knew even more…but he never hit on us.”

  “’Cause you’d probably have hit him back.” Rowdy’s astute summation pegged it.

  “Probably.” She shrugged. “Still, he gave me an opportunity. A couple of years later when I cycled out, I gave him a call. He hooked me up and I got a job.”

  “That’s awesome. No seriously.” He raised a hand as if she’d protested the compliment. “Been thinking about what I want to do—got the letter a few weeks ago offering me an out. Don’t want to go back to the family business. Didn’t think about law enforcement.”