by Yvette Hines
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Chelsea’s Somebody
Copyright © 2013 by Yvette Hines
ISBN: 978-1-61333-616-8
Cover art by Tibbs Designs
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC
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Chelsea’s Somebody
A 1Night Stand Story
By
Yvette Hines
Chapter One
“Oh, Chelsea, I’ve wanted to tell you this for a long time.... You need Madame Eve’s service.”
Chelsea McDaniels cringed, almost afraid to ask. “Who is that, Siann? The new hairstylist over at Bonnie’s Hair Design?” She pushed her limp, too long, peekaboo bangs to the side so she could see. Time for the hairdo to go. Magazines coined it as a sultry style, but she no longer cared. Going natural had seemed like a good idea during the cooler months, but after an hour in the Texas heat, any curl she’d started with became non-existent. By dinnertime, her hair resembled a rat’s nest.
She jerked the ever-present band from her wrist and yanked her shoulder-length hair into a ponytail. “Is it that bad?”
“No, no, no. She’s owns a specialty matchmaking service of sorts. 1Night Stand to be exact.”
The tension in her forehead increased as she leaned toward her friend on the other side of the table. “Why in the hell would I need a dating service? I already know the man I want.”
“Exactly.” Siann opened her menu and began to scan the evening specials at Molly’s Pig Pickin’ restaurant.
“Now, I’m confused.” Chelsea shook her head and focused on her own menu. A typical Friday night where she and her best friend started off the evening at Molly’s because most of the single men from town would be there, including Rick. They would continue the night at the Jesse James, two-step bar, because all the men migrated there for pool, drinkin’, dancin’ and woman chasin’.
Siann liked to get chased, while Chelsea preferred to watch Rick Forrester. Hoping he’d stop looking through her and ask her out. But she had a better chance of the pigs that had been slaughtered for the ribs she’d ordered to take flight.
***
“Well, little doggies and biscuits. If you ain’t the prettiest thing I’ve seen tonight. What’re you all gussied up for, Chelsea?”
Her face warmed then her breasts, nipples tightening in response. The rest of her body heated as if she were lying before a winter fire. Licking her lips, she tried to be brazen and carefree like the other women he flirted with.
“Maybe I’m feeling a little frisky, Rick. You know of a cowboy I can ride?” She rested her elbows on the polished, wood bar, letting the position push her breasts forward and high; waited.
His gaze darkened. Those cobalt blues caressed her from face to feet, pausing on her breasts in between. “Well, I don’t know, Chel. What kind of fun you in for?” His eyes returned to her face, spots of humor sparkling in their depths before he said, “You know Jessie don’t offer tiddlywinks up in here.”
Vaulting to her full height, she stamped her booted foot on the floor. “Rick Forrester, you can be such a wiseass at times.”
“Woo wee. What burr got up inside her jeans?” Stem Hadley strutted up and clapped Rick on the back.
Like twin towers of pleasure, the men stood over her. Best friends, partners in crime, happy to fulfill any woman’s dreams of a ménage a trois. Any woman but her. She’d heard of their wild exploits with the single ladies of Lucky Valley. When you got in bed with one of the pair, the other crawled in, too.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” A sexy, cocky smile tilted Rick’s lips.
Rolling her eyes, Chelsea tried to ignore their teasing, even though it cut her to the quick because, like always, they didn’t take her seriously. “Cut it out, y’all. I’m a grown woman. Sooner or later you all will recognize that or be left in the dust.”
Stem threw his head back and laughed. A laugh so uproarious it drew attention to them.
She wanted to disappear into the floor. It was hard enough to get the men in this ranching town to take her seriously without Ren and Stimpy making her the brunt of a joke. “Kiss my ass, Stem.”
“Bare it,” he snapped back.
“Ah, come on, now. We don’t want to hurt her tender feelings.” Rick stroked her cheek with a calloused palm, and her sex throbbed in eager response.
This man has too much appeal. His eyes, dark and hot, convinced her he knew what he packed in his arsenal. And wielded proudly.
“Why don’t you allow us to buy you a beer before you have to head off to bed?” The wicked gleam intensified.
Smacking his hand away, she folded her arms below her breasts. “No, thank you, Forrester. I’m sure there’s someone else here that’s man enough for a filly ride.”
Shoving away from them, she sashayed the length of the bar toward a group of wild and horny guys at the edge of the dance floor.
“Make sure you strap yourself in, McDaniels. You’d hate to find your ass bouncing on the floor.” Rick called after her.
Not giving him the satisfaction of a response, she sidled up to one of the randy men, a local guinea farmer. “Hey, Trent. You think a lonely woman can get a drink and partner…on the floor.” She was proud of herself for not twisting her nose at his fowl stench. Hell and bats’ wings. Did he think about showering before he came out on a Friday night?
“Shit and feathers, I sure will.”
An appropriate term, since both clung to his boots.
From across the bar, Rick gave the other man a cold look then stared at her with narrowed eyes, but Stem tapped his arm and the pair headed off to the next whorish thing.
Chelsea shook her head as she shoved her frustration way down. What would it take for Rick to step up and make a play for her? The same heat brimming a moment before in his gaze, had simmered there since they were thirteen and she went swimming with them in the lake on the last day of school. But in the two years she’d been back in town, he hadn’t made one move.
; Rick wanted to shove his boot hard into Trent Belfer’s ass. That hen farmer better not even think about putting a hand on Chelsea or taking her up on the non-subtle offers she dished out that evening.
What the hell had gotten into her?
She pranced around Jessie James’s bar in those tight-ass jeans and that barely-there tank top, looking like a bowl of precious cream to every horny tomcat. That included every damn cowboy in the bar, he and Stem, too.
But, Chelsea was off limits, a pearl, treasured and unattainable. And the daughter of the local veterinarian. No rancher wanted to be on the bad side of the man who had power to heal his ailing cattle.
Chelsea attended church every Sunday, had ranked at the top of their class, and never cursed or snuck drinks like the rest of them.
Her most reckless act consisted of playing a rowdy game of baseball on Saturday afternoons or hanging out on the lake with the rest of the teens in summertime.
On the last day of their eighth grade year, a bunch of kids had decided to ditch the bus ride home and hike to Duck Bill Lake, three miles from school.
Chelsea had swung from the rope hanging from an old tree over the lake and emerged from the water laughing. With her hair slick, dark skin shinning, and a regal glide toward the shore, she reminded him of a Nubian goddess.
Chelsea had become a young woman. His pubescent gaze had zeroed in on the wet material of her white blouse clinging to her small, brown, pert breasts. Her tight nipples drew his attention to the dark circles surrounding them.
His mouth dry, thoughts of drinking the water from her skin and feeling those taut buds poking his tongue overwhelmed his brain. His cock hardened on full alert.
Meeting his stare, her laughter died away. She grabbed her book bag and hightailed it home.
Liddy McCall had stepped up that day. Fifteen and a ninth grader, she’d blown both he and Stem behind a tree and then let them have sex with her at the same time, birthing a reputation he’d recently become tired of living.
Chelsea grew up to become one of two pharmacists in town. Far too respectable and precious for a whoring rancher. He’d shock her with his demands in bed—the least of which was Stem joining in. Something that hadn’t been going on for a while.
His heart pounded. No woman he’d screwed had made him want her all to himself. Why would Chelsea be any different? Monica Little, who danced on the bar in her short jean skirt, without doubt wasn’t. Pantyless, from the narrow glimpses he gained every time she squatted.
Chelsea does, his heart taunted. His anxious glance found the leggy, ebony beauty leading a group of twenty women stepping to Cowboy Casanova. Her thick ass teased him every time she turned. She now wore a cowboy hat, probably stolen from one of the men lining the dance floor admiring her moves.
Yea, Chelsea McDaniels could be the one.
“Really, Siann, what in the world will it take for Rick to get his head out of his ass?” Chelsea sat in a corner booth, nursing a cold beer.
Her friend frowned. “More than easy pickin’s like Monica.”
Grabbing one of two tequila shots in the center of the table, Chelsea tossed it back and chased it with salt and lime. The instant burn stole her breath and her voice. Normally a two-wine-cooler girl, being around Rick or, rather, being ignored by him, always pushed her buttons. Made her reckless.
Once the fire licking her throat had calmed enough for her to speak, she said, “That blond bimbo is practically dry-humping Stem while she deep throats Rick’s beer. Don’t they have standards?”
Seeing the short woman seated on Stem’s lap with one booted foot on Rick’s knee as she tilted her head back and showed all the men around how she liked to swallow made Chelsea want to spit nails.
“I guess not, when the woman is revealing all her late night goodies for the whole bar to see.” Siann laughed.
She joined in, unable to deny the truth. The numerous flashes of the other girl’s sex made her want to bring up her lunch from a week ago.
Siann’s gaze fixed back on her again.
Chelsea shifted in her seat. “What?”
Lifting her beer, Siann drank, and returned it to the table. “Are you serious about wanting to get with Rick?”
“How can you ask me that? You know how long I’ve wanted him.” Chelsea piled some fallen salt crystals into a little mound, lost in an old memory that she often replayed when she sat alone in her apartment.
The day at the lake when she’d witnessed the hot desire in Rick’s gaze. She’d wanted to tear off her shirt and beg him to touch and kiss her skin. That reaction had scared her. Terrified, she’d turned away. Her father had drilled into her head that boys in Lucky Valley were not to be trusted.
Clifton McDaniels wanted his daughter to marry a guy from college, one of his old friends’ sons. She’d dated Preston for eight months and given him her virginity, but she could never get her heart to beat for him. Preston inspired staid emotions, not the passion she experienced every time she looked into Rick’s eyes.
“Even if the two of you ever got together, he’d be packin’ Stem with him.”
Chelsea had been getting an earful about the wild pair since high school. Even after being away for almost seven years completing her pharmacy degree, she’d returned to town two years ago to find the tales still rampant.
“I realize that.” She took another drink of her beer, glancing toward Rick and Stem and then back. “Do you think he would ever settle down? You know, without Stem?”
Siann shrugged. “When a man finds the right girl, he’s liable to do anything.”
Chelsea nodded, not sure what else to say for the moment.
“I think I have a solution to your problem. Well, a temporary one anyway.” Siann sat back.
Sitting forward, Chelsea asked, “What?”
“Madame Eve, the one-night service I told you about.”
Chelsea slammed back against the cushion, disappointed. “I told you I don’t need a dating service.”
“No. But you sho ’nuf need a hookup master.” Siann now stretched over the table. “What you need is someone to help you get into Rick’s Wranglers.”
This is true.
However, she would prefer a more permanent place, like his heart. But the love/lust she had for him had gone on long enough; time for some action. Lacking other options, Chelsea sighed. “Fine. What do I have to do?”
“Come on. Let’s take a cab to your house, and I’ll show you.” Siann finished off her beer then scooted out of the booth.
Chelsea walked toward the door with her friend. They cruised by Rick, but she forced herself to keep her view from settling on his appealing frame. However, she made sure to add a lot of saucy twist to her hips. His heated gaze followed her, if the warmth of her ass was any indication.
Smiling, she exited the bar.
***
Two weeks later, Chelsea read the email response from the 1Night Stand service.
Ms. McDaniels,
I have received your request. My heart goes out to all those who seek love and passion. We cannot promise forever, but we can give you one night. The rest is up to you.
Arrangements have been made with the gentleman you requested. You will meet him at the Castillo Hotel, Austin, where the concierge will ensure you have everything you need for your evening together. Please contact the hotel to confirm your reservations.
Peut-il y avoir plus de plaisirs et de.
Au revoir,
Madame Eve
Chelsea placed a hand over her heart and felt it pound against her palm. Slightly inebriated, she had allowed Siann to take her to the website her friend had found one night while surfing the net. Pulling it up, giggling, they entered Chelsea’s information on the extensive form.
The next morning, sober, she had rushed to her computer and pulled up the site from her history. She’d searched for a way to recall the message. Some way she could cancel the application. However, she found no customer service number listed only an email address. S
he’d typed a long, drawn out story about drunken web surfing and how she had not intended to really send it. Requesting her money back. A substantial amount of money. It would seem 1Night Stand arrangements didn’t come cheap.
Money didn’t worry her. Her career paid very well, even in a town the size of Lucky. Ranchers weren’t paupers.
Then, done and prepared to hit send, she couldn’t do it. Maybe because she had wanted Rick for far too long. Maybe because desperation and the need to get laid had her in knots. Even if he walked away from her the next morning.
With the thorough screening process completed, and just making the call to the hotel remaining, the fear of Rick rejecting her took hold.
Hell, most alleged that he and Stem would screw any available woman. They had probably bedded Monica before midnight struck that night two weeks before.
But, she could do without the humiliation. As she described in the online form, she was prepared to play in extreme ways she’d never dreamed of before. So, if nothing came of it, she’d still have her pride afterward. Anonymity would assure her of that.
Reaching for her cell phone, she stared at the words on the bottom of the email. Her three semesters of college French helped—a little. Latin, a pharmacist could decipher easier. Soon, she understood the message.
May there be pleasures and more.
Smiling, at Madame’s omen-like message, she dialed the number.
Chapter Two
Stem stomped some of the dust off his boots before entering Rick’s house. “Hey, Rick, you don’t mind if I use two of your hands to get some taggin’ done, do ya?”
“What?” Distracted, he glanced up from the piece of mail he held.
“Ranch hands?” Stem waved his fingers in Rick’s face.
“Naw. Take Paul and Cecil. They’re muckin’ the stalls after doing a piss-poor job of mending the back pasture fence last week.”