You're Tops

by Sydney St. Claire

  Table of Contents

  You’re Tops

  Publication Page

  Dedication

  PRAISE FOR AUTHOR

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  About the Author

  Contact Susan/Sydney at:

  Also Available

  Also Read

  Thank You

  You’re Tops

  by

  Sydney St. Claire

  A Candy Hearts Romance

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  You’re Tops

  COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Sydney St. Claire

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by RJ Morris

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com

  Publishing History

  First Scarlet Rose Edition, 2016

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0421-2

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To my own Valentine hero of 37 years.

  Love you, Lynn. Thanks for sharing the ups and downs of life with me.

  PRAISE FOR AUTHOR

  Sydney St. Claire

  CINDERELLA & PRINCE DOM

  “Whew! …dust off the fairy tale and check the battery stash! Sydney St. Claire has given Cinderella some glass slippers with BDSM heels… While this is her first entree in the (erotic romance) genre, she pulls together a great story with an equal ‘hot factor’ and love story. Great read!”

  ~Snarky Mom Reads

  RED & HER BIG BAD DOM

  “*thud* *head desk* *faints* Yep, that’s Harlie after reading this one. Damn, I thought my Kindle would combust. Literally… You will need a cold drink, your partner, or a cold shower...”

  ~Marika Weber, Harlies Books

  ~*~

  “Instead of treating BDSM like just another man-controls-woman-for-his-pleasure encounter, author Sydney St. Claire really gets it that it’s always a matter of give and take, of dominance and submission wrestling for control, even as the Dom is ostensibly the one wielding the power.”

  ~Laura Roberts, Buttontapper Press

  SNOW & HER HUNTSMAN

  “I absolutely adore this series. If you are looking for something extra hot with intriguing story lines, this series is a must-read.”

  ~Nulery, Books N Pears

  ~*~

  “…an absolutely wonderful mix of the BDSM/kink and the lovey-dovey stuff that saps like me enjoy reading about”

  ~Lauren Seiberling, Romance Novel Giveaways

  Chapter One

  “How many ways can a writer write insert tab A into slot B?”

  Sitting on her balcony, Regina Cox reread the sex scene she’d just finished and groaned. It was awful, the worst she’d written. It was flat. No pizazz, no heat, and totally boring. A frustrated growl escaped as she hit the delete key, trashing yet another scene. She wanted hot-hot-hot. Sizzling, scorching, wowza. All she could manage was blah.

  She reached into a crystal bowl and pulled out a small heart-shaped candy with the words, True Love, stamped into the center of the sweet.

  Yeah, supposed to be writing about true love. Instead, she had pure dreck. What was wrong with her? She was a romance writer, had a dozen published books beneath her belt. So why was this story being so difficult? It wasn’t even a full-length book. Just a nice, valentine novella for next year. “Easy,” she’d said when she signed the contract. “Whip that little puppy out in no time.”

  Ha! She held out the tiny heart, words facing the laptop. “See this, Jake Robinson. You are supposed to be falling in love, and you are not cooperating. This is your fault,” she accused her hero, then popped the treat into her mouth and crunched down.

  Your problem, babe, not mine. I got the goods. Your bad if you can’t figure out how to use them.

  “Ha! I blame you. You’re not talking to me. What makes you tick? Being a Dom isn’t enough. Wanting or needing power and control isn’t enough. I need to know you.” Well, she knew he was stubborn, closed mouth, and very choosy with his women. “What’s wrong with the subs I give you?”

  She ran a hand through her hair, the silky strands fluttering around her face. “I’m losing it,” she grumbled. She was arguing with a character as though he were real and sitting across from her at the table.

  Yep, losing it.

  Yet, every writer in her critique group would understand. Dammit, the book was due in three weeks, and so far, she’d tossed out nearly everything she’d written. Twice.

  “So, yeah, it’s your fault, Jake,” she muttered. “You don’t even have a heroine anymore. None of them are good enough for you.” The last one just ran off screen and jumped into the delete file in tears. Glaring at the words on the screen, she swore Jake was smirking at her.

  Not my fault. She wasn’t heroine material. Not worthy. Not a true submissive. Gotta do better, babe. I’m worth it.

  “Watch it, Jake, or you’ll end up in the trash folder. Maybe I need a new Dom.”

  Fictional character and Dominant Jake lifted an arrogant brow and turned his back on her. At least that’s how it felt to Regina. She dropped her head in her hands.

  The cool, morning breeze plucked at her hair, a teasing tug. She loved writing on her balcony with her laptop in the mornings, even during the winter, though you’d never know it was winter in Los Angeles. Today’s forecast was mid-eighties, which was much warmer than normal for February. It was peaceful, the early quiet broken by the chatter of a squirrel in the trees or a burst of song from a mockingbird or the cries of crows.

  Maybe she needed a break. Or food. Had to be close to noon. She glanced at the time down on the corner of her screen and groaned. Just after nine. She flung herself back in her chair and scrubbed her hands over her face. She’d been at it since seven and didn’t have anything to show for two hours of work.

  Standing, she paced. A long walk might clear her head, or she could go plan lunch. Hell, cleaning the toilets held more appeal than staring at a partial filled page and dealing with a stubborn-ass character.

  Gathering her shawl around her to ward off the slight early morning chill, she leaned on the rail and lifted her face to the rays of warmth. Closing her eyes, she brought her image of Jake to mind. Tall, the build of a construction worker, a golden, sun-kissed body, black hair and smoldering blue eyes. Nothing wrong there.

  He was supposed to be a fun, humorous guy. Instead, he was turning into a tall, dark, handsome, broody clichéd hero. She wanted a light story of a Dom just looking for some great sex and wham! Her hero is hit with Cupid’s bow. It should have been an easy story to write. After all, who wasn’t in the market for some great sex? “God, aren’t we all?”

  Regina couldn’t remember the last time she’d had good sex. Hell, it’d been months since she’d had sex period, and that one nightstand had been—unmemorable. Even before, during her seven-year marriage, before her husband ran off with a perky, much younger woman, sex had turned routine and boring.

  She grimaced. Writing love scenes held more appeal than the real deal. No more disappointments in bed, no pandering to self-centered males, a
nd no being made to feel as though she was the worst lover on the face of the earth. The day her divorce became final, she’d adopted her mother’s mantra. Men Are Pigs.

  But part of her, the romantic, wished she had someone loving and caring, someone who’d give her a nice, big heart-shaped box of chocolates and flowers for Valentine’s Day, which was tomorrow.

  Sighing, she told herself not to be foolish. Her ex hadn’t even bothered the last few years of their marriage. Still, she yearned for it. Unfortunately, that meant she had to date, and she had no desire to do so. “Guess I’ll buy my own flowers and candy. That way I get the good stuff and won’t have to deal with the bad.”

  The echoing sound of hammering shattered the morning quiet. She glanced to her left. And sucked in her breath. Down below, in the backyard next door, her real life model for Jake was on his hands and knees, pounding nails into the new deck he was constructing.

  Though it was early, and the temperature held a bit of chill yet, her neighbor had stripped to the waist, giving her a fine view of his bronzed body. Her body hummed with appreciation as her gaze swept across wide shoulders and a long, smooth, back, gently curved as he welded the hammer. His arms bulged, and muscles rippled with each pounding blow.

  Yep, hero material. He jumped to his feet with animal grace and fetched another board from a neatly stacked pile, treating her to a lovely view of tanned chest, the generous mat of dark hair, his tapered waist, and lean hips. She sighed.

  The man had some serious abs. His ass-hugging jeans, worn low, funneled her gaze down the line of dark hair that disappeared beneath his waistband. Watching his smooth movements, the way his muscles bunched, she was reminded of a large, jungle cat. She didn’t think there was any animal quite as graceful as a feline, big or small.

  When he set the board in place and dropped back down to his hands and knees, she licked her lips and eyed his prime ass. What she wouldn’t give to dig her fingers into those sweet cheeks. He wouldn’t have a flabby or fatty ass like her ex. His was all taut muscle.

  Who would have thought that skinny, sulky, Tucker Owen would grow up and become a centerfold worthy hunk. God, add broody and she had a real life romance hero living next door and one she could happily stare at all day. Yep, prime eye candy.

  After his father’s death four months ago, he’d moved back home after inheriting his father’s house, as she’d inherited her house nearly five years earlier. Regina had taken the time and every opportunity to watch and study her new neighbor. She hadn’t seen a lot of him growing up as his parents were divorced and he’d lived with his mother two states over. Tucker only came to stay with his father during school holidays and summers.

  He’d been a sullen, sulky boy, four years her senior who’d wanted nothing to do with her during summer barbecues between the families. Not that it had mattered. She’d hounded him anyway. He’d been her first love, and as an adult, she was drawn to him, perhaps still a bit in love with him.

  Well, in lust, as she didn’t really know the man. And following her new mantra, men were pigs, she wouldn’t allow herself to be sucked into a relationship. She sighed. He might be off limits, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciated his very manly body and fantasize all she wanted.

  He grabbed a bottle of water off the rail, uncapped it, and chugged the liquid down. The sight of his head tipped back and his throat bobbing sent her heart rate spiking. Though she’d vowed to forgo the male race and concentrate on her writing career, Tucker was one man she’d love to explore and get to know every delicious inch of his body.

  Too bad dating a neighbor was as bad, in her mind, as a relationship with a co-worker. When the breakup came, one would be stuck seeing that person every, single day. Still, he was definitely hero material. Which probably meant he was anything but.

  Good-looking men who knew they were good-looking had me issues, and as she’d gotten rid of her husband who had major it’s all about me issues, she’d stick to her fictional heroes and, when needed, her vibrator.

  She returned to her computer. Perhaps modeling her hero after her unattainable neighbor was the root of her story issues. “Okay, Jake, let’s change it up. Give you blond hair, green eyes, and get rid of that dimple in your left cheek.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Guess your chin dent has to go as well. Too much Tucker in Jake.”

  Babe. Don’t mess with perfection.

  Regina rolled her eyes. Yeah, Jake/Tucker in all his prime, male splendor was about as perfect a specimen as a writer could create. Definitely hero material. Letting out a frustrated breath, she pulled her hard copy from a folder to read and try to figure out what was wrong or missing. This much trouble usually meant something was off in her set up, so back to the beginning. After a few minutes, she tossed the sheets of paper onto the table in disgust.

  “Okay, it’s not you, Jake. It’s the women. I need to do more research on the Dom/sub relationship.” That was where her story was flat. She was used to writing love scenes with lots of romance and foreplay and a good, strong emotional bond between her characters before intimacy came into play. What she had right now was two strangers engaging in sex.

  Fine by me, babe. Like you, I don’t need a relationship. All I want is a good time.

  “Doesn’t work that way.” Regina scowled. “You’re the hero. Gotta have a heroine and a happy ever after. Sorry buddy. You’re stuck being a Valentine hero.” She flipped to another file on her laptop. Back to goals, motivation, and conflict. And themes.

  A gust of wind hit her from behind, blowing her hair forward and into her face. The sound of scattering sheets of paper had her swearing and jumping to her feet. She slapped her palms onto the stack of manuscript pages, but the gleeful wind swept most of them away.

  Shit! Her shawl fell to the deck as she raced around the table, snagging a sheet soaring above her head, stomping one skittering along the wooden deck, and plucking several sheets plastered to the railing. To her horror, several others flew off the balcony and went airborne, fluttering and floating right over the fence like paper airplanes or magical carpets.

  ****

  Tucker hammered home nail after nail, very aware of his sexy neighbor working on her balcony. Every morning when he staggered into his kitchen for his cup of joe, he’d peek out the window, and there she’d be, typing away on her laptop. He stood, stretched, and stole another glance at Regina Cox. The breeze tossed her long, silky red hair around her face like a cloud of fire. He had to admit, she was a striking woman with her pale complexion set off by all that glinting hair and eyes so green, they sparkled like jewels in the light.

  He remembered how, as a rotten kid, he used to tease her mercilessly about her carrot-orange hair and freckles and make her blush at every opportunity just so he could laugh at her. And then, there was jumping out at her to scare her and listen to her high-pitched squeal. She’d get so mad at him, and of course, he’d end up in trouble from his father and her mother.

  Yeah, little Gina had grown up. His body tightened with lust. She had the sweetest curves, and he longed to run his hands over that delectable body, but that wouldn’t happen. Ever. He was a Dom, and from what he’d seen of his neighbor, she was not submissive in any area of her life. She appeared to be a woman in full control, which was too bad.

  He’d asked her out a few times—a cup of coffee, a movie, even a trip out to the lake for a picnic. She’d turned him down, gently, each time. He grimaced. According to the gossip mill that operated in the guise of the family-run market, she’d gone through a rough divorce. Her husband had driven off with the fancy car and a girl barely out of school. Regina had gotten her parents’ house and a decrepit Honda Civic. She was off men.

  Yeah, too bad. He was bored with the current offerings of subs at the private club he frequented, and the nearest big city was just too far a drive to be practical. He had a timetable. Get the house fixed up, get it sold, and get the hell out of Los Angeles where the traffic and congestion made it hard to breathe, let alone
get from one place to another.

  That meant he didn’t have time to indulge in fantasies that currently included images of Regina draped over his spanking bench, her nicely curved ass in the air turning as pink as her face when she blushed. Hey, a Dom could dream, couldn’t he? Lately, that image of her accompanied him to bed as well.

  He sighed. There was too much to do for him to be out here thinking of his neighbor. He’d taken leave from his job as a firefighter to deal with his dad’s house, which unfortunately needed a lot of renovations and repairs before he could sell it. Instead of working inside, being productive, he was spying on his sexy Gina like a teenager hoping for a naughty glimpse of the unattainable.

  “Work,” he ordered himself, placing another board. Two boards later, the sound of a high-pitched squeal had him whipping around. Gina was scrambling to catch drifting sheets of paper floating around her like sparkles in a snow globe. Dropping nails and hammer, he stood and watched with interest and amusement. Damn, she sounded the same as she had at fourteen.

  At nearly thirty, she wore a cute little yellow dress that left her arms bare. As she danced after the whirling sheets of paper, the wind flirted with her skirt, lifting the hem to reveal trim thighs, and when she bent down to snag a sheet of paper, he was treated to a mouth-watering view of her plump cleavage.

  Lust slammed her greedy fist into his gut. God, he could easily imagine those creamy mounds capped with pale, pink peaks. His fingers twitched as though feeling the weight of her luscious flesh in his palms. She was more than a mouthful, and he’d bet she’d taste smooth, like a generous shot of whiskey—neat.

  But when she turned, bent over to grab another sheet, and revealed lots of silky thigh and the hint of her nicely rounded ass, pure lust stabbed into his balls like tiny knives. He sucked in his breath. What he wouldn’t give to have her inside his playroom right now. His dick stirred as though agreeing with his mind.

  “Forget it, buddy. Ain’t happening.” She’s a forever kind of woman, and he wasn’t looking for anything beyond good sex and easy companionship. He eyed the paper soaring over the fence and grimaced. Shit. Now he’d have to talk to her. He tried his best to keep his distance once she’d made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him. Why torture himself needlessly?