She turned on the laptop and pulled up the story of Felicity, Hope and the toxic Drexel Moss, and the handsome sweaty basketball star Sinclair Falcone. She recalled the last time she was with Luke and allowed her imagination to take off like a bottle rocket, her body tingling with lust. She typed: Felicity tore off Sinclair’s shirt and straddled him on the living room floor. The doorbell rang. “Ignore it,” he said. It rang again.
Alexa realized it was her doorbell and stopped typing. She plodded barefoot to the door.
“I didn’t order pizza. It’s the guy in the next apartment over.”
“Too bad,” said a familiar voice. “This one’s made special for you.”
Peeking out, her heart raced to the red zone. “Come in, but don’t look.”
Cracking open the door, she sprinted to the bathroom, rinsed off the green clay mask, shook out her hair, dried her face, dabbed on lipstick, and returned with a sheepish smile.
“What did I just see?”
“Nothing. Welcome. Sorry, I’m a fright.”
Luke Prescott stood in the vestibule, disarmingly handsome in cargo shorts and a red Miami Heat T-shirt. The irony was not lost on her.
“So I hear you could use a Rent-a-Dad.”
“Zelda can’t keep a secret.”
“She’s a regular blabbermouth.”
“Come in, sit down.” A hint of cologne tickled her nostrils as he swept past. Still deep into her mental imagery of Sinclair and Felicity, she resisted the urge to throw her arms around his neck, peel off his shirt, and drag him to the bedroom.
He took a few steps toward the couch, stopped, and turned to her, brushing away a fleck of green still clinging to her flushed cheek. “We should talk.”
Talking was bad. Kissing was better.
Her hands began shaking. “Can I get you something to drink?”
He leaned toward her, his lips making contact, hand running through her hair, down her neck into the small of her back, drawing her body close, deep kisses filling them both with unquenchable desire. She melted into his warm embrace and they stumbled into the bedroom making up for lost time. In the dark, they grew even more luminous.
After what seemed like a year of unbridled passion, Luke planted one last kiss on her lips and rolled out of bed. He dressed as she wrapped a robe around her naked body. Together they walked to the front door where they wallowed for a few more delectable moments in another long overdue embrace. She felt safe and warm nestled against his broad chest—for the first time since she was with Rick up on Bald Peak Mountain. No, she wasn’t going there. She was here and Luke was finally back to his loving and caring self.
His husky voice felt like melting butter on warm toast as he held her close.
“Our company is having a blowout up in Jupiter in two weeks, a black-tie event for the big investors,” he said. “I’m inviting you as my plus one. Can you come?”
“What about Hannah? Can I leave her alone?”
“You trust her don’t you?”
“She’s a good kid, but teenagers are unpredictable.”
In a throaty whisper he said, “We’ll have an entire X-rated weekend all to ourselves.”
“Then yes,” she blurted out. “Count me in.”
She put the date into her cell phone and closed the door. Leaning against it, she stood motionless, savoring the deliciously passionate and emotionally charged moment that still clung to her like a honey-covered cloud.
Words could not do justice to the dazzling and unexpected explosion of sensual pleasure they’d just shared. No matter what—whether she won the contest, lost it or even completed the novel—at least Luke was back in her life.
Maybe she’d let him slip into the plot and become a character. Maybe not.
Anything was possible.
CHAPTER 45
SINCE THE weekend of the tech company bash with Luke was the same Saturday as the Heats game, she posted a flyer at the office offering the tickets at a discount. Alexa hoped to recoup some of the cost, but even better, she had avoided an awkward situation with Luke and Hannah and Doc.
Helen Parry summoned her tersely to Bryan Frost’s office. She walked past her coworkers as though on air, a silly grin plastered on her face. His door was open. She took her usual seat on the brocade-upholstered cherry wood chair and stared at her handsome boss. He was freshly shaven, hair neatly combed. He wore a baby blue collar shirt and purple tie with golf balls which was unusually tacky. He smiled benignly.
“So, how’s the book coming along?”
“Pretty good,” she lied. The whole weekend had been spent with Luke. She hadn’t written a single word, except the few paragraphs she’d churned out before he knocked on the door with his pretend pizza and swept her into bed for multiples of everything.
“You know if it was appropriate—which I know it’s not these days of heightened awareness—I’d say you didn’t spend the weekend alone.”
Her cheeks burned. “You’re right. It’s not appropriate.”
“There were rumors going around you were engaged and might be moving away.”
“I’m not engaged. I’m not moving anywhere.”
“Good. So I guess Luke Prescott is making you smile—unless there’s someone new in the picture.”
Startled to hear his name spoken aloud, Alexa’s mind unspooled back to the previous summer when she and Luke and Zelda had attended Sunday services at a church in Pompano where they ran into Mr. Frost. The two men had been introduced. He’d also met her former husband, Mike, as well as their daughter, Hannah, in what could only be described as the weirdest and most uncomfortable day of her life. Although he didn’t know everything about her, Bryan Frost knew far too much about her personal life. And despite being out of bounds with his uncalled-for comments, he was still the boss.
With some effort, she held her waffling emotions in check. “Did you ask me here for a reason?”
“It seems you’ve been running in and out of the office upsetting everyone.”
“Yes, I’m sorry about that. Mrs. Parry can explain.”
“Are you blaming Helen?”
“No, of course not. But she can answer all your questions and its best if it came from her.”
“So what’s with your novel? Are you entering the contest?”
“Yes, I fully intend to.”
“Enlighten me.”
She knew he’d start micromanaging the minute she opened her mouth. But what choice did she have?
“It takes a village to write a book,” he continued, as though sensing her reluctance “Nobody works in a vacuum. Besides, I have a vested interest in your success.” His sapphire blue eyes glommed onto hers as she lost herself in the cleft in his chin. “I might provide some insight or perhaps a few helpful hints.”
He was right about needing feedback. Perhaps he could provide a fresh perspective.
“I don’t have a title yet, well maybe Courting Felicity. The protagonist is a professional basketball player.”
“So that means getting inside a man’s head. Interesting.”
“He’s dating a woman but has no idea she’s a twin. It could lead to a clever mix-up.”
His smile twisted with displeasure as she felt a needle prick her heart. The micromanaging had begun.
“I hope you’re not basing your character on Cara Galloway.”
Alexa shook her head, hair swishing across her face. “No, no, Cara’s a triplet.”
“Just don’t give her long brunette hair or make her small-breasted and narrow-hipped.”
Alexa felt sucker-punched. That’s exactly the way she had described Felicity and Hope Gold.
“I get the reference to basketball, but a better title might be Courting Romance. More women would relate rather than using her name.”
“Love and Basketball,” she parried.
“Courtside Passion.”
“Love on the Rebound.”
“Good. Let’s go with that. We can do a nice graphic on the cover.”
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She jotted down the new title. Although she liked Courting Romance better, she wanted to keep the upper hand, not give in so easily.
Frost leaned back and made a steeple with his fingers. “It’s tricky writing from the POV of the opposite sex.”
She nodded. “I imagine so. But it’s doable.”
“It’s definitely doable. But what do you know about basketball?”
She shrugged. “Not much.”
“I can hook you up with some Heat tickets, or take you to a couple of games, for research, of course.” He was making a pass at her, again, disguising his intention as mentoring. He leaned forward. “No pressure.” He leaned back again. “I’m not sure you can pull this off, but I’m giving you plenty of latitude.”
She managed a tight smile as they sat silently for a minute or two. “Anything else you need to tell me?”
Alexa had told him too much already. “Nope, I’m good.” She left his office and passed Mrs. Parry who made a small “tsking” sound. On rubbery legs Alexa returned to her desk, sinking into her swivel chair.
“No detour to the ladies room?” asked Lana vaporizing at her side. “That must have gone pretty well.”
Alexa stared slack-jawed. The walls definitely had ears.
“Glad to hear you’re not moving away,”
“Nope, you’re stuck with me for a while longer.”
“But I hope you can stay in your chair for more than five minutes at a time.”
“I’ll try.” It was a lie, of course. She avoided eye contact with Lana.
“That’s good to hear. We wouldn’t want you leaving us to write for Random House or Simon and Schuster.”
The sarcasm in her voice was palpable and the aroma of cheap cologne lingered as Lana moved away. Her unnecessary sarcasm only made Alexa hungry for a victory. Her creative juices were in overdrive as she looked up buzzwords for romance: dirty, impious, forbidden passion, erotic, desire, and obsession.
She picked up a green felt pen, going through the motions of copy editing a manuscript while dreaming up a delicious plot twist for her clean-cut ballplayer and the sinful twin sisters.
CHAPTER 46
TWO NIGHTS a week Rob dropped by Sari’s for a home-cooked meal; once a week he surprised her with takeout. He usually stayed over for lovemaking, never in a rush, always attentive to her needs, a patient and affectionate partner. Not only was he thoughtful about food and sex, he felt comfortable leaving his cellphone where she could easily pick it up and snoop through it. Although she never did, the message was clear: I have nothing to hide. I trust you.
Sari felt blessed to have met him under such peculiar circumstances and after getting off to such a rocky start. She shared a few snippets with her friend Suzie who’d seen photos, but had no sense about the man himself. Now that Sari felt more comfortable with the choices she’d made, happier than she could ever remember, her connection with Alexa had improved noticeably. She received a heartfelt thank-you note for the hummingbird statue she’d sent, and an equally sweet text from Hannah for the prairie dog carving.
They were finally on their way to mending a relationship that had been fraught with emotional turmoil for decades.
Alexa had asked about the “guy in the woods.” Sari replied that he was a friend.
As for the question about what she was doing in the woods wearing only a bra, Sari had simply texted that she was getting groovy with Mother Nature.
She hoped Alexa was happy for her, but if not, it didn’t matter. She was Facebook friends with Hannah, staying in the loop about her budding romance with Doc, a tall, gangly teen who aspired to become a professional basketball player. It was nice to have ambitions, to know where you wanted to go—putting all your energy into achieving those goals.
Her mother, Deidre Martin, had saddled her with an enormous burden before she’d even finished high school; the same one Rob had attended. It was a miracle she’d graduated with so little time to study, barely passing the finals. But she walked across the stage on that sunny spring day, head held high although she had no prospects for college, no thoughts of joining the corporate world, or making a name for herself in any field of endeavor. She went straight into survival mode.
For Sari, every day was a challenge, but she never lost heart as she made her way through life as a single mom, wife, legal secretary, and widow, on the long and winding road to Sedona.
Looking back from where she now stood, there had been a few hiccups along the way, nothing to complain about. Joe’s death was the worst of it, yet she felt blessed to have met and married him. She still felt awful about the Christmas snafu, but there was no redo. It was simply bad timing and miscommunication. They’d all moved on. Hannah texted they had a blast and she even got her ears pierced, without her mom’s knowledge or consent. Sari decided to buy her a pair of earrings.
She recalled when Alexa was four and took a bad tumble at the playground. She’d picked her up, brushed off the dirt, and asked, are you okay? Alexa bristled, her body rigid. “I’m fine,” she said. She was a strong-willed and determined child. Now she was a strong-minded and resolute adult.
Her mind drifted back to Deidre who’d been the greatest influence on her life. She’d been a problem-solver. In addition to her role as nurse and midwife, she often made special arrangements for foundlings born out of wedlock, placing them with surrogates on the QT. A baby girl born to a Baptist preacher’s underage daughter had been one of them. It was illegal, of course, but cancer brought her down before the authorities could. Now, after accepting the role that had been foisted on her, Sari wanted answers to myriad unanswered questions. It was also Alexa’s right to know her heritage and Hannah’s as well. Sari felt this was her mission, and the reason she had been led here to Rob Porterfield.
CHAPTER 47
LANA COX was seriously out of control, up in everyone’s grill as she distributed new manuscripts and demanded constant updates on their progress. Water cooler gossip attributed her unusually obnoxious behavior to a litany of ailments, including, but not limited to: menopause, shingles, Ebola, and cat scratch fever.
For all of Lana’s negativity, Alexa was on a roll with her new fictional story, as well as her real one. In her research on what constitutes a successful romance, she’d learned that this genre was Big Business: from the suave and dashing Rhett Butler to the sexy and kinky Mr. Grey, love-themed books raked in millions. Billions!
The written word was undeniably powerful and extremely profitable. No wonder the boss didn’t want fluff; he wanted solid, sex-driven fiction, and for good reason. They made money. Tons of it!
Bryan Frost’s skepticism about her novel had dampened her spirits for a few minutes. He had perfected the art of playing good cop, bad cop—the pursuer and the cynical critic. Despite his lack of enthusiasm, her mind was spinning faster than she could write. To prevent ideas from slipping away, she snuck out of the office from time to time and dictated scenes into her cellphone. She sent them via email to be downloaded at home later. Now, as she stood outside Comet’s front door, she smiled as she spoke.
“Hope was tempted to seduce Sinclair Falcone while her sister was at work at the bar. She knew from the way he’d kissed her that he had no clue she was not Felicity.”
Lana shouted from the doorway, “Hey, not on company time!”
Alexa pushed herself upright, hit SEND, and followed Lana inside wondering why she thought it was okay to wear jeans and a hoodie with Crocs to work. Certainly this was not the image a successful office manager wanted to project, and yet that’s exactly what Lana was doing. Why wasn’t there a dress code? Perhaps Helen Parry could interfere, but she didn’t—or maybe she didn’t dare. Perhaps she did once or twice and Lana had shut her down, the way she shut everyone down. Nobody questioned her authority. It was her style of management: ugly and counterproductive. But Alexa didn’t want to get embroiled in Lana’s wardrobe quagmire or her relationship with her Aunt Helen. It was none of her business. She wondered if Lana’s
comments had derailed Helen’s budding career as a writer. No pages had been delivered in a while. Perhaps she had no time with Gretel as her surplus house guest.
Now that she and Luke were back between the sheets, she’d decided to ramp up the sexual tension thus sending bad boy Drexel into an angry rampage. She scrawled notes on a pad and knew that she’d never be able to decipher them. She picked up her phone and dictated, “probing fingers, ravishing desires, juicy intoxication, and flicking tongues.” She hit SEND.
At lunchtime, she sat in her car continuing the narrative.
“Her hands snaked up under his T-shirt, sharp fingernails raking across his chest until he was beyond the point of no return.”
Was this too much? What was the tipping point where steamy sex became raunchy smut? At what point would her novel be disqualified and labeled obscene? She made a mental note to ask Zev. A sudden rap on the window caused the phone to bounce off her lap and into the foot well. It came to rest near the brake pedal. Cara stood outside.
“I need to talk to you.” Her words were muffled through the glass.
Alexa reached down and retrieved the cellphone, dismayed to see the narrative had been lost. Stepping out, they walked inside as Cara complained how Lana now considered them rivals, instead of writing buddies.
“I think I misread her intention,” she said.
“What did you think she wanted?”
“To pick my brains about her next book. I think she figured that since I won I could tell her the secret of winning. But that’s ridiculous. The editors want what they want. It could just as easily have been her that won. I got lucky.”
“You’re too modest, Cara. Your book must have been exceptionally good. I can’t wait to read it.” She didn’t add that she’d be looking for the same winning tips Lana was.
“What’s her book about?”
Love Lost & Found (Surfside Romance Book 2) Page 16