by B. D. Dark
“A peek?” he asks, lifting his hand to push my bangs away from my eyes and lingering long enough to stroke my cheek with his fingertips.
“A peek at what might be. I won’t commit to more than a peek.” I think back to the moment two nights ago when I woke alone, finding that Everett had really packed and left in the middle of the night. I was disconsolate, my heart fallen into the pit of my stomach. I’d felt for a second that we could share something special, that somehow, even though he’d gone, we weren’t finished yet.
Looking past Jonathon, through a window to watch the pedestrians on the street, scurrying here and there, I lift my beer and hide behind swallows, knowing without a doubt that we aren’t finished yet. Everett and I have yet to begin.
Jonathon leans in, pressing his lips to the spot his fingertips had traced only a moment before. Then, leaning back into his seat, hands me his cell phone. “You can call him now. He’s waiting to hear from you.”
“You lied to me! You said you didn’t have his phone number! You said you had no way of contacting him!” Looking at the faceplate of his phone, I see that he has already dialed and it is ringing. I fold the phone closed. “I’m not ready to talk to him!”
“Yes, you are. You’ve decided.”
“You lied to me!”
“Yes, I lied ‑‑ to protect you. I didn’t want you saying or doing anything rash, and now, I’m glad for you. I’m glad you’re willing to go. Everett needs you. And in truth, you need Everett.”
I shake my head, burying my face in my hands, suddenly unsure again.
Jonathon’s phone vibrates on the table, leaving us both looking at it. He doesn’t answer it and I’m not about to. I have no doubt it’s him. “Answer it, Julia.”
Hesitantly, I reach for the phone. “Hello?”
“Well, hello. I was expecting Jonathon.”
“You can talk to him if you’d rather,” I say smartly, earning a sharp glance and an even sharper elbow from Jonathon.
“No!” he says loudly, and then more softly, “I want to hear your voice, little dragon.”
“That’s good, because I really want to hear your voice, Lord Draco.”
I smile at Jonathon, happiness filling my chest, happiness and certainty that going to Atlanta is absolutely the right thing to do. I mouth “thank you” to Jonathon as he stands, pointing to the restroom sign before he walks away.
“Are you coming to Atlanta?” Everett’s voice comes over the receiver. “Are you ready to be tamed, dragon?”
I am quiet for a moment, long enough to hear his breath over the phone. Just in the sound of his breathing in and out, I get the sense of his nervousness and it surprises me, but in knowing that he is also anxious I become more certain. “Yes, Everett, I’m coming to Atlanta ‑‑ to see if you have what it takes to tame me.”
I hear his laughter coming over the phone in response to my challenge and it isn’t sinister or arrogant, it is filled with warmth and happiness, cementing my decision to go. I am filled with happiness, listening to his laugh, and I realize how empty I’ve been without joy.
“Are you laughing at me?”
“I’m laughing because you’ve made me very happy today, little dragon. I look forward to trying to tame you, but mostly, I look forward to seeing what my life will be like with you in it.”
“Yes. I feel exactly the same way.” I sigh, the strangest sensation coming over me that I am going home…
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Roxy Harte
Roxy recently moved to an even smaller town in Southwestern Ohio with her husband and sixteen year old daughter, a very loud, boisterous dog, and two independent cats, where they are serenaded at night by coyotes and wakened each morning by geese flying over.
“Life is good. Sometimes I worry that it is too good, that writers need angst and personal drama to draw from. When I first started writing, a decade ago, it was a respite from caring for my invalid parents. After tucking them in, I would write the day's stress away until the wee hours of the morning, sometimes until it was time to start my day over again. Now, I write for myself, for my joy…and to hopefully bring a moment's escape to my dear reader's when they are in need of respite themselves.”
I am often asked, “So, what do you write?”
And the answer, Contemporary Erotic Romance just doesn't answer the question justly. Yes, it's contemporary romance. Yes, it's erotica.
But first and foremost, it is fiction which serves the purpose it was originally intended to and that is to encourage my readers think, to push their boundaries, and to give my readers emotionally, psychologically, and spiritually complex characters to fall in love with.
Keep up on the release dates of all of Roxy Harte's erotica at www.roxyharte.com
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