Wishes and Kisses

by Nancy Pirri

  Wishes & Kisses

  by Nancy Pirri

  Published by

  Melange Books, LLC

  White Bear Lake, MN 55110

  www.melange-books.com

  Wishes & Kisses, Copyright 2006-2008, 2011 by Nancy Pirri

  ISBN: 978-1-61235-099-8

  Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published in the United States of America.

  Cover Art by Mae Powers

  Wishes & Kisses

  Nancy Pirri

  For Angelina Marrone's twenty-first birthday she receives a birthday present to remember; a night in the arms of sexy escort, Burke Severson.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Summary

  "Wishes & Kisses"

  About the Author

  Previews

  Wishes & Kisses

  August 13, 2000

  St. Paul, Minnesota

  100° in the shade

  My twenty-first birthday had arrived, and on the hottest day of the year. Unfortunately, the only thing I had to look forward to was a drink called an Ultimate Mudslide that my best friend, Stephanie Hanson, insisted I try. As I sit beside her at Schwietz’s Bar on St. Paul’s lower east side, I, Angel (Angelina to mom and dad) Marrone, am experiencing a deep feeling of apprehension. This feeling, I’m certain, will soon be followed by a big-time case of dread.

  Damn. I was certain Stephanie was setting me up for another blind date.

  Sure, I want to fall in love like any normal (if there is such a thing) woman, but some of the guys Stephanie chose for me in the past were bad boys. Stephanie adores them. I’d had enough of them during my young, impetuous past. They don’t impress nor appeal to me anymore.

  “Come on, Angel, loosen up!”

  I scowl at my tall, blonde and beautiful friend since kindergarten, her coloring and build totally opposite of my own dark hair and eyes. We were also completely different in size; she’s tall and lanky and I’m tall, not overly plumb but a bit Amazon-ish, like Zena. I’ve even been called Xena-Warrior Princess by children in the grocery line.

  At last I say, “I’m trying, but you know I don’t go for the bar scene anymore.”

  I’d dated, at least once, every ball player on the Men’s Thirty and Under League during my crazy stretch of bar-hopping days between the ages of eighteen and twenty. Yes, I know the drinking age in Minnesota is twenty-one, but I’ve always been resourceful.

  “So, explain what’s in this drink and why I have to try one,” I said.

  “Cream, oh, yeah, cream for sure.” Stephanie grinned, then slid her tongue in a circle over her lips.

  Now hear this; Stephanie was one of those women who could get anyone hot, man, or woman, after a move like that.

  “Stop it!” I whispered as I looked around self-consciously. “Someone might think you’re coming on to me.”

  Stephanie threw her arm around my shoulders and let loose a big belly laugh. “You worry too much. Now let me continue. Besides cream, there’s Kahlua and Irish cream, bananas and, let’s not forget the most important ingredient, and a girl’s best friend, grated chocolate.”

  It sounded heavenly, even as my stomach gurgled. I’d been up since early morning, pounding the pavement (okay, I’m prone to clichés so give me a break) looking for a job, not breaking for any nourishment. I knew better than to drink on an empty stomach but at the moment I didn’t want to think about it.

  Harrison Photography, where I’d been employed just six months after graduating from the Minneapolis Institute of Arts with a bachelor of fine arts degree in photography and media arts, had let me go. They called it a layoff but I knew better. I didn’t meet the standards of that snooty bitch, Pauline Harrison, the owner of the company. T.G.I.F. is all I can say, and sleeping in Saturday morning sounds better than an orgasm at the moment. But then, I haven’t experienced one of ‘those’ in so long its tough making a comparison.

  “Doesn’t sound half bad,” I said. “Order me one.”

  The bartender whipped one up, placed the drink in front of me and I took a tentative sip. I let loose a colossal groan of ecstasy, immediately hooked. Then I turned to Stephanie and gave her one of my lop-sided, sheepish grins. “You’re right. It’s better than an or—uh, better than anything I’ve ever tasted.”

  Stephanie gave me a smug look. “I knew you’d like it. Once you finish we’ll head over to Bob Ross’s Bar to pick up the best present of all.”

  “Listen, best friend, I’m bushed. After this drink I’m calling it a night.”

  “Oh, no, you’re not. I’ve got the biggest, bestest (that’s what she always said when she was a kid to describe something she loved) present yet. You can’t leave and you don’t turn twenty-one every day, you know!”

  I sighed. “Okay.” I sipped down the rest of my drink, stood up and felt—well—pretty darn good. I’d also gained a sense of humor and giggled when Stephanie shoved me ahead of her out the door.

  “How can just one drink make you tipsy?” she snapped.

  “You know I don’t drink much anymore,” I said, shrugging apologetically.

  “Doesn’t matter. What you’ll be getting at the next bar-stop will sober you up quick.

  This was getting interesting even though I knew I was headed for a set-up. I hate set-ups; I’d had enough blind dates in my life to know no good ever came of them.

  I yanked down my cropped silk top that had just one button and tied below my breasts. It stuck to me like a second skin due to the heat, but nicely showed off my 38 D cleavage. It didn’t help that Schwietz’s air-conditioning had broken down. I straightened the silver chain belt on my low-waist snug jeans that showed a lot of my midriff, which I’d worked feverishly to tone over the last few years.

  A gust of muggy air hit me in the face as we left the bar and I gasped. I hate summer; hate the heat, which is why I live in Minnesota. Give me a whopping snowstorm and temperatures below freezing any day of the week.

  For as long as I’ve known Stephanie she’s been a woman of understatement. I was reminded of it shortly after entering Bob Ross’s Bar. I took two steps then stopped abruptly. “Ohmygod.” The Chippendale dancers—rather clones of them—were dancing on top of a makeshift stage. I saw the sign in back of the bar flashing neon red, ‘Ladies Night Out’.

  “Come on,” Stephanie urged.

  “Uh-uh,” was all I managed to utter.

  “No use backing out now. I’ve got the best table in the room reserved for us.” She led the way to a round table, in the center first row, below the stage. I had no choice but to follow, then sank into a chair, my jaw hanging open.

  There were five of them in various shapes and colors, and wearing only g-strings, black bowties around their necks and white cuffs on their wrists. One of the dancers strutted over, bent his knees and shook his family jewels at me. If he’d bent any lower ‘they’ would have been about eye-level. He swung his lean hips in circles, thrusting out his pelvis. Raising his tanned muscular arms he cupped the back of his dark, curly hair and did this amazing thing with his pectorals.

  My mouth watered, my armpits starting sweating and I knew I had to get out of the place. I grabbed the edge of the table to stand. Stephanie planted a firm hand on my shoulder. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

 
I nearly swallowed my tongue when the guy winked at me then motioned to his groin with his eyes. I kept my eyes on him but shouted at Stephanie over the bump and grind music, “What does he want?”

  “A tip. Got a ten or twenty on you?”

  I whipped my head around and scowled at her. “If this is my birthday treat, all I can say is forget it. I’m not paying out on my birthday.”

  Stephanie rolled her eyes. “Can’t you just play along? My God, do you have to rip apart and analyze every little thing and situation? Can’t you be impetuous for a change?”

  “Impetuous? Heck no. That’s a bad word and you know it.”

  As I mentioned earlier, I’d been more than impetuous plenty of times during my life so far and hadn’t scored many points because of it.

  I turned my attention back to the stage and saw the dancer heading our way again. He possessed six-pack abs and thighs thick as tree trunks. I sank low in my seat. “Make him go away.”

  Stephanie ignored me.

  A scantily-clad waitress arrived at our table. Stephanie ordered us drinks then turned her full-wattage smile on me. “His name’s Burke. Isn’t that just the greatest name? And, he’s yours for the night.”

  “Mine?” I squeaked.

  “Uh-huh. He’s done in about fifteen minutes and has he got a night of fun planned for you.”

  “You paid him how much money to show me a good time?”

  “Don’t worry about the money.”

  Easy for her to say. She’d never had to worry about money; born into wealth, and her career as a top lingerie model has kept her lucrative. I, on the other hand, have been a starving student for four years. I’ve got student loans to pay back plus money I owe my parents. In the interim, while looking for a full-time photography position since I’d lost my first job, I started working a week ago as a part-time library clerk at the University of Minnesota law library.

  Stephanie added, “He’s been working as a professional escort for over a year. Believe me, he knows how to entertain a lady.”

  “But, we don’t know him!” I groaned.

  “A friend of mine on the St. Paul Police Force did a criminal check on him and he’s squeaky clean. You’re going to have a great time!”

  The server returned with our drinks, two a piece since it was happy hour for another half hour. I gulped down the first one, barely tasting it, then nursed the second. All the while my gaze was trained on ‘Mister’ Chippendale. The more I stared at him the more I liked what I saw. Maybe I deserved a night of excitement.

  But then I scowled into my second drink and thought about the last two men who’d lured me into their beds with promises of ever-lasting love, which of course didn’t happen or I wouldn’t be here with Stephanie. As a matter of fact I’ve an abysmal track record with regard to commitment and relationships, not that I haven’t given it my best shot. I have, but for some reason I’ve always been attracted to great looking guys with commitment phobia. Now, as I glared up at Burke dancing away from me, his taut ass wagging up a storm, I guessed him to be just another bad boy. Only bad boys would work at a job like this.

  I kept my eyes riveted on his ass cheeks until he turned and headed toward me again. Then my grin slipped and my heart dropped down to my unsettled stomach when I saw the hot look in his eyes. Sex with this guy would be hotter than twice-baked potatoes I decided, enjoying the sweeping, piercing look he played over my body.

  “I need another drink.”

  “Now you’re talking!” Stephanie crowed.

  By the time the show ended I had no qualms about accepting my birthday gift. I sat at the table listening to Stephanie flirting with one of the other dancers until I couldn’t hold my head up any longer; couldn’t keep my eyes open, either. Somehow, though, I felt more exhausted than drunk.

  A pair of big hands settled around my waist and lifted me from my chair. “Come on, Birthday Girl. No time for sleeping now. We’ve got some partying to do.”

  I shrieked then stopped abruptly. Burke now wore snug blue jeans and a chambray shirt with the cuffs rolled back. The rugged clothes gave him an earthy, masculine look. Urban cowboy came to mind.

  Then I found myself staring directly into his eyes since he’d lifted me to that level. I had to admit he was stunning. Soon I found myself staring at his jeans-clad ass because, quick as a bunny (sorry), he’d tossed me over his shoulder and strode out of the bar. I cringed when I heard angry shouts from the other women, all apparently hoping for a good time tonight. All I can say is it’s going to be a ‘hot town, summer in the city’ Minnesota night for this birthday girl. Stephanie knew what was best for me.

  He carried me outside into the humid evening air. The outdoors sobered me up somewhat and again I started having second thoughts. Also, I didn’t appreciate all the blood flooding into my head as I hung over his broad shoulder. But I had to admit with his big hand stroking my ass and petting me like I was ‘man’s best friend’, I grew excited. Beneath my denim jeans the crotch of my tiny thong felt drenched. Drenched was not a good thing.

  “Put me down, caveman!” I kicked him and flailed my fists against his back.

  He just chuckled.

  I struggled in earnest and must have found a decent mark. I heard him curse, but then I became the one cursing when he smacked my ass. One solid swat per cheek

  “Let me down!”

  His smack had cleared all symptoms of too much booze and lethargy from my head.

  “Not a chance, babe. I’ve a job I’ve been paid to do. Relax,” he ordered, his low voice causing vibrations to flood through my body. “This will be a memorable birthday, I promise.”

  He headed straight for an earlier-model Porsche convertible that appeared to be in mint condition. I frowned and thought maybe I needed to get into another line of work if dancing bare-assed paid this well. He opened the door, pulled me down off his shoulder, then belted me into the passenger seat.

  “Nice wheels,” I murmured, sliding my hand across the leather seat.

  He slid into the driver seat and drawled, “Oh, yeah, I’ve entertained many a fine woman in this vehicle.”

  “You have?” I said, knowing I wore a let me outta here look.

  “Sure, but I’d much rather seduce you at the St. Paul Hotel, which is where we’re headed.”

  I scrambled up straight in my seat and reached for the door handle.

  Snap!

  I pushed on the handle but the door wouldn’t open. I swung around and stared into his laughing eyes and smug expression.

  “Gotta love those electric locks, don’t you?”

  Gulp. “Did I hear you say we’re going to the St. Paul Hotel?”

  He nodded, put on his blinker, and pulled away from the curb once traffic had cleared.

  “What for?”

  He gave her a ‘you have got to be kidding’ look. “Didn’t Stephanie tell you anything?”

  I crossed my legs and arms, stared out the window and muttered, “You’re my birthday present.”

  “That’s right.” “He took a left onto the entrance ramp of 35E. “Did she tell you anything else?”

  “What else is there?” I grumbled. “I was feeling the booze so I don’t quite recall what she said.”

  “Is the top down okay with you?” he said.

  I whipped my face toward him. “Huh?”

  He laughed again. “My car,” he clarified.

  “Oh, sure, I love the hair in my wind, er, I mean the wind in my hair.”

  We arrived at the hotel. Burke tossed his keys to a valet then popped open the trunk. Inside I discovered my overnight bag and a mid-sized duffle. He carried both pieces inside.

  Damn, Stephanie! She must have snuck into my apartment with my spare key while I was at work today.

  Grasping the handles in one big capable hand and cupping my elbow with the other, Burke guided me inside. I was sorely tempted to make a run for it. But then I started thinking how lonely my little apartment was and that there was no one else with whom I c
ould share my birthday. I decided I had to trust Stephanie.

  I leaned against a wide column and hid as Burke checked us into the hotel, too embarrassed to show myself to the desk clerks whom I imagined knew exactly why we were there. I’d been in the St. Paul Hotel twice before, for weddings. The place was ritzier than The Ritz, I imagined, having never seen the famous hotel in New York City.

  Burke returned to my side, gave me a wry look as he pulled me out from behind the column. We followed a bell boy who carried our luggage into an elevator. As I sank back against the elevator wall I thought about Julia Roberts in ‘Pretty Woman’ making smart-alecky comments as she rode up in the elevator with Richard Gere but couldn’t think of anything witty to say.

  The quiet unnerved me and I accidentally met the eye of the young bellboy who gave me the once over then winked. I stuck my tongue out at him, averted my eyes and watched the numbers light up until the elevator came to a stop on the top floor. The doors opened. Burke took my hand and walked me down the hall, the bellboy leading the way. The heat from Burke’s big hand settled deep into my core—made me feel hot and anxious, comforted and cared for.

  The young man stopped outside a set of double doors, then opened them with a flourish. I stood in the doorway, gaping at the accoutrements until Burke gave me a gentle push. Blessed cold air from the air-conditioning as I stepped into the room revived me. From the corner of my eye I saw him tip the boy, heard him say something about champagne and strawberries.

  The first item that caught my eye was a soft buttery maize-colored leather sofa and matching chair. A wet bar occupied a corner of the living-dining area. A set of sliding glass doors opened onto a quaint deck equipped with lounge chairs.

  “Stephanie has great taste, doesn’t she?” Burke said as he led the way toward a set of French doors. He opened them and a king-sized bed covered in cream satin was the bedroom’s focal point. Naughty, erotic thoughts entered my mind when I saw the bed’s tall, spindly bedposts. Where was a set of handcuffs when a girl needed them?