Whirlwind Romance: 10 Short Love Stories

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  He bounded up the steps of the Greek revival building, the collar of his overcoat turned up against today’s gale force winds. She waved through the glass entrance doors, marveling at how handsome he was.

  “Wow, you arrived before me. That’s a first.” He kissed her quickly on the cheek.

  Courtney chose not to comment on why she’d gotten there early. “I love this place, and it’s been ages since I wandered through the collections. I thought we might go upstairs before lunch. They’ve added a few new portraits to the “Struggle for Justice” permanent exhibit.”

  “Is that how you see your job, as a struggle for justice?” He half smiled.

  “My stance isn’t about justice, it’s about personal responsibility.” Courtney took a deep breath. “And that’s what I want to talk about.” She pointed to the broad marble staircase. “Let’s go upstairs first.”

  Entering the exhibit, Courtney picked up a flyer about the portraits in the “Struggle for Justice,” all of whom were major cultural and political figures—from key nineteenth century historical figures to contemporary leaders—who struggled to achieve civil rights for disenfranchised or marginalized groups. She led the way down a long corridor, stopping at the portrait of United Farm Workers organizer César Chávez.

  “Interesting you should stop here.” Eric nodded to the portrait. “He’s one of my heroes.”

  “I’m not surprised.” Courtney reached for his hand. “Chavez devoted his life to the conditions of farmers, and that’s what you do for your constituents.”

  “I certainly try.”

  Courtney took Eric’s other hand, so they stood facing each other in front of the portrait. “I know your heart is in the right place, Eric, and you need to know that the way I feel about you has nothing to do with how you’re going to vote on the tobacco tax.” She squeezed his hands. “There, I said it.”

  Next thing she knew, Eric had pulled her into his arms. He breathed into her hair, that wonderful warm breath of his. She inhaled his glorious spicy scent as he said, “Courtney Larson, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  • • •

  Courtney panicked when her phone chirped and a text from Eric popped up, congratulating her on the vote and saying he was on his way to her apartment. A mixture of excitement and dread gripped her when she heard the knock on the door. He’d voted against the tax, of course, and in an odd way, she was proud of him for his stand. She froze for a moment. Now that the vote had been decided, she’d have to come clean about the kind of relationship she needed. But in this moment, all she wanted was to be in his arms.

  She flung the door open and then skidded into him on the icy stoop. He lost his footing, and they toppled together onto the sidewalk. Arms and legs tangled, they rolled, and then came to an abrupt stop at the boxwood hedge lining the walk. Courtney sat up, laughing. Eric bounded to his feet and helped her up.

  “I guess you’re not mad at me,” he said.

  “Mad? Did you think I’d be mad?”

  “I wasn’t sure, but since your side won,” he smiled, “I’m the one who should be licking my wounds.”

  “Are you licking your wounds?”

  Eric pulled Courtney into his arms. He rested his chin on her head. “Oddly, I’m relieved. I felt duty bound to support my constituents, but the vote went the right way.”

  Courtney looked up at him. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. And I want you to know that your campaign did have an impact on me. I’m going to crack down on growers who are spiking up nicotine in tobacco, and I’m going to try to get incentives for growers to begin planting hemp and other environmentally-friendly crops. I truly believe it’s the best option for my constituents’ long-term survival. I don’t have much influence in the North Carolina General Assembly, but I’ll encourage everyone I know in state office to fund tobacco prevention and cessation programs. It won’t happen overnight, but I’m committed to making changes.”

  “That’s quite a confession, Senator.”

  “It’s nothing compared to what’s coming.”

  “What, now you’re going to tell me that you have a wife and three children holed up in a Georgetown townhouse?” Courtney’s heart raced. She was joking, but her tendency to prepare for bad news got the best of her.

  “Of course not.” He tucked her head back under his chin and caressed her neck. “I’m going to tell you what I really want. I just hope you want the same thing.”

  Courtney stiffened in his arms. Would this be the end of her hopes and dreams? Had he waited for this vulnerable moment with her high on the vote’s victory to plead his case for BDSM? Had all his gentility been merely a ploy to get to this moment of truth? She hugged him tighter, wanting to prolong this last embrace before he found out she wasn’t even close to the woman of his erotic dreams. She was a complete fraud. Well, she’d kept up the ruse as long as possible. Better face the inevitable.

  Eric cleared his throat. “I’m in love with you, Courtney. I love you.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. I love you, and I want you, whenever you’re ready to take the next step.”

  When Courtney opened her mouth, her teeth started chattering, but she managed to say, “I love you, too.”

  Eric laughed and hugged her tightly. “What say we continue this discussion inside?” He helped her up and they entered Courtney’s townhouse. Just as she closed the door, it sprang open again. Helen bolted inside rubbing her arms from the cold, before she even noticed Eric and Courtney. When she saw them, she jumped, and then she looked closely at their expressions. “Uh, did I catch you two in the middle of something?” She held up a hand. “Wait, don’t even tell me. I haven’t been laid in so long, I don’t think my heart could stand it. Just know that I’m happy for you two.” She looked back and forth at them again. “Oh, God, you probably want to be alone, and here I show up like a bad penny.”

  “Actually, Helen, we were just leaving.” Courtney glanced at Eric.

  Eric smiled. “Yeah, we’re heading back to my place.”

  “I’ll just throw a couple of things in my overnight bag.” Courtney turned and ran up the stairs.

  • • •

  For two people who made a living through their powers of persuasion, they both seemed unable to utter a word on the drive to Eric’s apartment. Courtney’s heart was bursting with Eric’s declaration of love, but they still hadn’t settled the sex toys issue. She patted her overnight bag, which held her toothbrush, makeup, and a cute peach-colored teddy that Helen had given her in anticipation of this day. She hoped it would stand up to battle scars. She shivered.

  “Cold?” Eric asked as he turned into his parking garage.

  “No, just contemplating.”

  “People don’t usually shiver when they’re contemplating. What’s up?” He looked at her briefly before heading up the ramp.

  “I was just wondering how important those riding crops are to your, uh, enjoyment?”

  “I’ve only used them on rare occasions when I have a particularly stubborn filly.” Eric looked like he was stifling a grin. Courtney couldn’t find the humor. Wait, did he say ‘filly?’

  “I wasn’t talking about your enjoyment of horses.”

  “Oh, you mean the use of a riding crop as a sexual accoutrement?” Eric rubbed his chin. “Don’t believe I’ve ever done anything like that.”

  “What? You don’t want someone who’s into whips and chains?”

  Eric turned off the ignition and angled toward Courtney. “Court, I want you. If you feel compelled to use some props, I’ll be willing to give them a try because I love you. But my collection of riding crops is just that—a collection.”

  “Wait a minute, what about that talk in Winston-Salem about you not having your toys with you?”

  “That was to put you off. I didn’t want to take you to bed under false pretenses, and I thought that if we made love before the vote, you’d think I was taking advantage of you.”

&nb
sp; Courtney undid her seat belt and slid onto his bucket seat. “Eric Morrison, you are one hell of a guy.” She took his face in her hands and kissed him soundly.

  When they finally came up for breath, Eric said, “What say we go inside?”

  “Beat you there.”

  They were at the door of Eric’s apartment in a record two minutes. Both breathless, they laughed as Eric fumbled with his key.

  Once inside, Courtney said, “I’ve been wondering about the color scheme in your bedroom, Senator. Could I take a peek?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  The next thing Courtney knew, she was being led by hand down the hall. When they reached Eric’s room, she glanced up at him before stepping through the door. The small muscle in his jaw began to tick as he walked her to the bed. He flicked on the bedside lamp, opened the drawer of the nightstand, and retrieved a condom. Courtney’s heart beat in her ears.

  Then he met her eyes, and any doubt floated out of the room. This was the moment she’d been waiting for. She took a deep breath.

  • • •

  Eric reached for Courtney’s belt and pulled her to him. “I won’t hurt you, Courtney. I won’t ever hurt you.” As he unbuckled her belt, unzipped her skirt, and slid it down her hips, he felt her relax under his touch.

  “With every fiber of my being, I know that.” She smiled. “And I’m a quick study.”

  He threw off his sweater. “Okay then, what’re we waiting for?”

  He worked on the little pearl buttons of her blouse while she pulled his shirt out of his pants. Slowly, they peeled each other’s clothes off until Eric stood in boxers and Courtney faced him in a peach-colored lace bra and matching panties.

  Eric traced his thumbs along the top of Courtney’s push-up bra and then rubbed her nipples through the lace. She moaned, and that was the precise cue he needed. He swept the comforter off the bed, but before he could take her into his arms, she pulled down the top sheet and leaped in.

  Sliding in beside her, he touched her cheek and then kissed her—a deep, wild kiss that intertwined their tongues in a dance he desperately wanted their bodies to do. While they kissed, he unhooked her bra and slipped off her panties.

  He pulled her on top of him and stroked her back, pressing her breasts into his chest, heart-to-heart. He moved his hands down to her buttocks, spreading his fingers wide and cupping her there. Moving her hips in sensuous circles against his cock, he nibbled on her bottom lip. Then he flipped her over so he was on top … and he started moving down her luscious body.

  “Where are you going?” She asked.

  “Where do you think I’m going?” He took her breast in his mouth.

  She moaned. “Just don’t stop.”

  When he moved down to her womanhood, she arched her back. His fingers found her sensitive bud first, and then he closed his mouth on her. She bucked underneath him and moaned. He sensed her mounting pleasure and intended to finish her, but she had other ideas.

  She put her hands on his temples. “I want to come with you inside me.”

  He smiled up at her, and then moved alongside her on the bed, turning her back to his chest. Reaching back to the nightstand, he took the condom, tore open the package with his teeth, and smoothed it down his erect shaft.

  He ran his hand down the smooth porcelain of her back, and then lifted her leg high in the air. He positioned himself slowly, and then penetrated her sheath from behind.

  She gasped.

  “Hurt?” He asked.

  “No, don’t stop.”

  He grasped her knee so that she was splayed wide, and he cupped her mound, his fingers dancing across her wet bud, which he pleasured to the point of no return. He felt her climax begin to pulse before she gave into it, and when she did, her entire body jerked with the spasms of her delight, sending him over the edge. He exploded into her, riding the wave of his release until it finally subsided, and they collapsed together. Eric wrapped his arms tightly around her and breathed into her hair.

  • • •

  They stayed spooned, damp skin to hot damp skin … and speechless … until their breathing returned to normal.

  “Oh, God, I almost forgot. It’s Valentine’s Day,” Eric said.

  “I think I got my present.” Courtney snuggled her butt tighter against Eric’s shaft, which answered with a nudge.

  “And you might get it, again.”

  “Might?” Another nudge pushed against her. “You’re getting persistent, Senator.”

  “Courtney, this is just the beginning of my persistence.”

  “Yeah? How long can you keep it up?”

  Eric laughed. “Are you talking about my hard-on?”

  “I’m talking about your heart.” Courtney’s own heart raced as she waited for Eric’s response.

  “How does forever sound?”

  “Good. Very, very good.”

  About the Author

  Susan Blexrud divides her time between Orlando, Florida and Asheville, North Carolina where she leads two book clubs, advocates for gay youth, writes a monthly column for All Souls Cathedral, quilts, watches birds, and maintains a public relations consultancy. She’s the married mother of two grown children, and her constant writing companions are a Chihuahua named Baby and a cockatiel named Romeo. Valentine Vote is her third novel for Crimson Romance.

  Contents

  Safe at Home

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  About the Author

  Safe at Home

  Leslie P. García

  Avon, Massachusetts

  Baseball — okay, mostly Atlanta Braves baseball — has been a passion of mine for much of my life, and I owe my intense interest in the game and its heroes and goats to two people: my mother, Nancy Rhodes Potter, and my brother, Gregory Phillip Potter.

  Mom, I know you’re still with me every opening day. I’ll never forget our celebration when Hank Aaron hit that homerun — wish I’d been home with you!

  And Greg, I’ll always believe you would have made the Reds team that next spring if you hadn’t had the chance stolen away.

  Thanks to both of you for a love of baseball and family.

  Acknowledgments

  Occasionally, colleagues call on me and ask me to critique a college paper or write a letter of reference — to use my words and craft to help them in some small way — and I’m delighted they trust me to do so.

  But then, faced with the editing of my own work, I feel obligated, almost, to warn them — ask at your own risk! Confronted with my own mistakes, all I can say is thank God for editors.

  To my sister, Victoria Morgan Potter, a technical editor who MUST start submitting her own work — thanks for the multiple read-throughs, conferences, and for all the assurances that, in spite of the color red, I can write!

  And to my Crimson Romance editor, Tara Gelsomino, thanks for the hard work helping me polish stories and for your high expectations, explained with patience. And red ink.

  Stories are better for red ink.

  Chapter One

  Mandy Warner pulled the worn baseball jersey up over her head and tossed it on her bed. The softened gray material crumpled, obscuring the large navy 9 on the back. She slipped on the sundress, sighing a little; the thing was so new it felt stiff and foreign.

  “Should just wear my comfort shirt,” she muttered, glancing at the gray heap. “He’d think it was his number anyway.”

  She glanced at the mirror. The floral sundress, with its spaghetti straps and low bodice line, fell to her knees in feminine folds. Fussy, too, but long enough that she wouldn’t have to worry about how she sat — if she could get Josh Arrevalos to sit down and talk to her. Of course, with the pennant chase full on, and the Santa Fe Scorpions a couple of games behind, getting Josh to sit down and talk
might prove as impossible as Wile E. Coyote catching the Road Runner, or the Yankees, Mariners, and Rangers all faltering at the same time.

  She looked in the mirror again, frowning at just how much cleavage the dress showed, and glanced at the neon pink bra she’d purposely left lying in a heap on the bed. She’d heard a line from some movie about feeling “naked under my clothes,” and she felt exactly that way. Naked. Her lips twisted. From what she knew of ballplayers, naked might work as well as anything else — not that she’d be caught dead naked. This should do. One last glance in the mirror relaxed her lips into a smile. Okay, sexy should do. As awkward as the dress felt, she had to admit she liked the stranger in the mirror who felt sexy.

  Mandy checked her face in the reflection, too. She’d applied her makeup almost as artfully as she used to when she was a kid following in her sister’s footsteps, back when her mom wouldn’t let her wear the stuff. How ironic that she hardly bothered now that she was old enough.

  I miss you, Shelley. For just a minute, her sister’s face flashed before her, brown eyes full of tears and fury as she’d confronted their parents that final time. Then she had turned and walked out the door. Mandy hadn’t seen her in the last 8 years, hadn’t heard from her.

  She jerked her purse off the dresser, forcing Shelley into the recesses of her mind, like she did at least once a day. Shelley had chosen to absent herself from their lives, and she was here. She had responsibilities, she reminded herself as she stuffed the car keys into the pocket of the dress. Corralling all-star Josh Arrevalos was job number one just now.

  • • •

  Josh ran a hand through his hair, realizing it was long again. Hadn’t he just had it cut? Days ran into one another, 162 games, changing cities, the physical aches and pains. He’d been blessed, and he wasn’t complaining. The season was going well, he thought, stepping onto the scorching asphalt of the players’ parking lot. Across the lot, shortstop Marty Benton was entertaining a couple of women who pressed against the railing above.