“I promise you it won’t be that bad,” she replied, following suit and sitting cross-legged. She pulled the blankets over her chest.
No way am I letting the boobs distract him from this conversation.
“Please, please, please!”
“Let’s ask Puff,” he suggested. CJ whistled and a thunder of paws sounded down the hall. The little dog clambered up the small stairs they’d placed by the bed and she landed on his chest rather gracelessly, making them both burst into a fit of giggles. “Puff,” Caleb said, his expression serious. “Would you like to be a big sister?”
She stared at him, her black eyes unwavering, and her tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth. Her tail swished from side to side.
“Would you like a little brother or sister?” he asked again.
“Brother!” Syd commented. “Definitely a brother.” She scratched her best pup behind the ears. “What do you say, Puffykins?”
She barked three times.
Caleb kissed the top of Syd’s head. “Well, the master has spoken.”
“Really?”
He nodded and smirked. “I get to name him, though.”
She frowned. “Should I be concerned?”
“Nope, I already have a great name in mind.”
“Which is?”
“Electro.”
“What! You can’t name him after a super-villain!”
“Aw, come on, Syd. It’s the perfect name for a Pomeranian, don’t you think?”
She burst out laughing. “I’m not sold on the name, buddy.”
He suddenly leaned in to kiss her. “You can name him whatever you want, darlin’,” he whispered, brushing his lips softly on hers again. “Whatever you want, so long as you stay with me forever, Syd. Just stay.”
Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:
Firefly
Madison Night
Excerpt
Chapter One
The loud thump of a box hitting the floor, the squeak of sneakers on linoleum and the high-pitched whisper of “Oh my God” from behind her made Libby Hill turn, fully expecting to see her café burning to the ground.
Instead, she saw her employee, Claire, skidding around a corner and racing in her direction.
“You’re never going to believe this,” Claire shrieked. She grabbed Libby’s arm and began pulling her toward the front counter.
Libby wiggled free of her friend’s tight grip. “Holy shit, what’s the matter with you?” She dropped her clipboard and a bag of coffee beans to the ground.
“Look, look. Quick, before he leaves!”
“Before who leaves?” she asked. “C’mon, Claire. I’m in the middle of inventory.”
Claire latched on to her arm again, and this time Libby’s curiosity got the best of her and she allowed herself to be led away from the stacks in the storeroom.
“Isn’t that Desmond Carlisle?” Claire whispered, her voice squeaking with excitement.
Libby’s heart began thumping. “Desmond Carlisle? As in Red Rain’s Desmond Carlisle?”
No way. She didn’t have that kind of luck. Her favorite guitarist from her favorite band? In her sleepy shop? Things like that never seemed to happen to her.
Libby snuck a glance at the cream-and-sugar station near the front of the shop and saw nothing but the back of a man. She cocked her head to the right and studied him as he stirred his coffee. He had dark hair, coming just to his shoulders. He towered over the other clientele, standing over six feet for certain, and under a T-shirt that fit him like a second skin, she could tell he worked out on a regular basis. His muscles rippled beneath the navy-blue cotton every time he moved.
Her gaze traveled south, and she took in narrow hips that tapered down into a pair of blue jeans, a nice tight ass and long legs. The corner of her mouth twitched upward and her gaze moved back up to his backside. He turned around right then, and she found herself staring straight at his crotch. The bulge there left nothing—and everything—to the imagination.
And Lord knows the imagination I have, she thought, her cheeks growing warm.
Libby looked up, hoping to see his face, but he turned before she caught a glimpse. He headed toward the door. The little bell chimed as it opened and closed, and he was gone.
“It can’t be him,” Libby whispered, stunned. “Why would he be here? Shouldn’t he be recording or something?”
“Oh my God, Lib, it was him, wasn’t it?” Claire asked, eyes wide.
“I don’t know. I didn’t see his face.”
“What? Are you kidding me? Are you blind? You were staring straight at him.”
Grinning sheepishly, Libby ducked her head and tucked a stray piece of blonde hair behind her ear. “Yeah, um. Sorry. My eyes kind of got stuck about here when he turned around,” she said, pointing to her hips.
Claire laughed. “Oh, I so don’t blame you.”
“Look, if you’re right on this, do me two favors, okay?” She paused, waiting for Claire to nod in agreement before continuing. “First, do not, under any circumstances, harass him. Don’t go telling people he’s been here. Let him have his privacy. Second—and perhaps most important—if he comes back into the shop, come find me right away.” Libby grinned. “Don’t let him leave without giving me a chance to ogle that great ass of his again.”
Claire guffawed and smacked Libby’s arm playfully. “I like the way you think. And don’t worry. I’ll be hush-hush. I promise.”
“Thanks. Now can I get back to the dreaded inventory?”
“I’ll hold the fort out here, boss.” Claire saluted and turned her attention to brewing a fresh pot of coffee.
Libby made her way back into the storeroom. She scooped up her clipboard and pencil off the ground and started her weekly ritual, making sure she had enough beans, sugar, cups, et cetera on hand for her little coffee shop to run without a hitch for yet another week.
But she’d be damned if she could concentrate.
She sighed and sat on the milk carton that doubled as her office chair, and looked around. Her coffee shop, The Bean, hadn’t even been open six months, yet somehow it managed to flourish in the Vegas heat.
Who would have thought a coffee shop would be such a smashing success in an area where ninety-degree temperatures were the norm? She loved her shop, the friendly clientele, and Claire, who was like a little sister to her. Running this place is enough, she told herself. Enough to make her happy, enough to keep her satisfied and make her feel whole. But deep inside she knew she was lying to herself. She fought boredom on an almost constant basis, often finding her mind wandering and daydreaming to break up the monotony.
Libby’d only lived in Las Vegas for a year. She’d gathered her courage and moved from Boulder City, ready for a change and optimistic of the outcome. A dancer, she’d come to Vegas with the hopes of seeing her name in bright lights on the Strip, of dancing to the sound of thundering applause.
But her dreams had been shattered.
Patellar Tendonitis, Libby thought bitterly, frowning down at the checklist in her hand. Jumper’s Knee. She squeezed her fingers around the pencil, choking it as she battled the tears that threatened to spill. The chronic pain her condition cursed her with ruined everything. If she couldn’t jump, she couldn’t dance the way companies needed her to, and she was essentially useless to them.
She let out a whoosh of air and shook off the gut-wrenching disappointment she experienced whenever she thought about her dancing career’s demise. Instead of wallowing in depression as she did all too often, she stood and stretched her neck from side to side, intent on releasing some of the tension so she could finish the job at hand. She became absorbed in her task, and the rest of the afternoon shot by in a blur.
Later that evening, when The Bean closed, both girls set to the tedious task of cleaning up and restocking for the next day. Claire finished clearing off the few tables scattered throughout the shop, and called out to Libby. “So, do you think he’ll be back tomorrow?”<
br />
Libby shrugged, feigning disinterest.
“I bet he will be.” Claire nodded, adamant.
“Yeah, we’ll see.” She continued, meticulously scrubbing at the espresso machine. “Go home, honey. I can finish up here.”
Two hours later Libby glanced up at the clock. “Shit!” The hands on the face had edged closer and closer to ten p.m. without her being aware. She had only one hour to get home, shower, grab her stuff and get to the club.
Working fast, she gathered her belongings and locked up The Bean, looking forward to the evening ahead.
Order your copy here
About the Author
Madison Night has fiddled with the written word for years—be it in song, story, or poem. A high school creative writing class piqued her interest in storytelling, and she’s been writing ever since.
Madison’s works have always included a romantic element, but recently she’s found her niche in the world of hot, steamy, sensual erotic romance. Some have called her stories romantic mysteries, others call them real life sex on a page, and still others call them everything in between. To her, though, writing was simply a chance to pour heart and soul into words, bringing life to the not-so-innocent thoughts in her head, and getting the heart pumping a wee bit faster in the process.
A devoted mother of one human child and two fuzzy puppy children, Madison currently resides in Toronto, Ontario. In her spare time she sings and writes music, dabbles with interior decorating, and has a blast chasing her son around the house.
Email: [email protected]
Madison loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.totallybound.com.
Also by Madison Night
Firefly
Little White Lie Page 30