by Jenna Byrnes
A Total-e-bound Publication
www.total-e-bound.com
Nothing To Lose
ISBN # 978-1-906328-93-1
©Copyright Jamie Hill 2007
Cover Art by Lyn Taylor ©Copyright January 2008
Edited by Janice Bennett
Total-e-bound books
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-e-bound eBooks.
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The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork
Published in 2007 by Total-e-bound eBooks 1 The Corner, Faldingworth Road
, Spridlington, Market Rasen, Lincolnshire, LN8 2DE, UK.
Warning:
Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated Total-e-burning.
Unexpected Love
NOTHING TO LOSE
Jamie Hill
Dedication
To John, now and always.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Ford: FORD MOTOR COMPANY
Goodwill: GOODWILL INDUSTRIES OF AMERICA, INC.
Hoover: THE HOOVER COMPANY
Lexus: TOYOTA JIDOSHA KABUSHIKI KAISHA
Salvation Army: THE SALVATION ARMY
Chapter One
The limousine pulled slowly out of the cemetery and Bailey Montgomery sank down into the plush back seat. It was the end of a long day and she felt tired and ready to get home. Or to her mother’s house, more precisely, because Bailey’s home was almost three hundred miles away in Chicago. She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind, but nagging thoughts kept swirling around.
She shouldn’t have put off coming to visit. Showing up in her mother’s last hours when she was too sick to recognise Bailey wasn’t enough. Bailey knew she should have been there, should have done more.
She’d taken two weeks of vacation when her mother was diagnosed with cancer the previous year, and stayed for the first round of chemotherapy. There had been two more rounds since then, and Bailey thought the disease was under control. She didn’t realise how quickly the cancer was progressing.
Her mother hid it from her, Bailey thought bitterly, and then shook her head in another attempt to clear it. When she started blaming her mother for dying, she knew she wasn’t thinking straight.
The limo pulled into her driveway and Bailey thanked the driver as she got out. She glanced at the white clapboard house where her mother had resided the last five years. It was smaller than the other homes in the neighbourhood but had an attractive appearance just the same. Her mother had professed to love the little house, but Bailey never shared the enthusiasm. The place just never felt like home.
Melissa Montgomery had moved to the tiny town of Perry, Illinois, after the death of her husband. Bailey’s beloved father had loved big cities and insisted they raise their daughter in his hometown of Chicago. Once he was gone, her mother had chosen to return to Perry, the place of her birth, and the tiniest town on the planet in Bailey’s eyes.
She walked up the short sidewalk and the three steps to the porch, pulling her keys out. There was an envelope tucked in the front door and Bailey grabbed it as she went inside. She opened the card, from a friend of her mother’s whom Bailey didn’t know. She didn’t know any of her mother’s friends or neighbours anymore. For that reason she had requested no reception or gifts of food or flowers—she wanted to keep things as simple as possible. Donations to the Cancer Society or to her mother’s church were requested in the newspaper write-up. Bailey spoke with her mother’s minister and he agreed to spread the word among Melissa’s friends.
Looking at the blinking light on her mother’s answering machine, she felt too tired to face the messages and walked on by. More condolences from people she’d never met, who probably wouldn’t want to know her. Ever since she’d arrived, she’d felt an underlying current of accusation. Her mother’s friends thought she should have been here, too.
Down the short hallway to her room, Bailey peeled off her dress and stockings, then dug around in her suitcase until she found her spandex running tank and shorts. She looked in the mirror and thought about scrubbing the make-up off her face but decided to do it as she showered after her run.
She pulled her long brown hair into a ponytail and fluffed her bangs. They were overdue for a trim, but it would be a while before she went back to Chicago. It would take at least two weeks to sort through and dispose of her mother’s things. She had requested a month’s leave from Chicago Today, the magazine where she worked as an editor, just to be safe. Bailey winced as she looked around the room—it was full with just her things. The idea of clearing out the whole house was daunting. What to keep, what to throw away? Would she recognise the things that had been important to her mother? More guilt, realising that except for a few items, she had no idea.
She decided to run now and worry later. A nice long run was just what she needed to clear her head. Things usually seemed to fall into perspective after a few miles of sweating. Bailey was tying her second shoe when the doorbell rang and she went to answer it.
“Hi, I’m sorry to interrupt you.” The woman was about her age, pretty with long blond hair and a nice smile. “I’m Sarah Stevens, I was a friend of your mother’s from church and the neighbourhood.” She held a small casserole dish with what appeared to be an apple pie on top of it.
Bailey looked at her, embarrassed. “I asked the reverend to tell people I didn’t need food. It’s just me here and…”
“I know.” Sarah shrugged and smiled. “But you need to eat. It has to be incredibly hard on you, losing your mother and all. I wanted to bring you a little something.”
Bailey shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably, but Sarah didn’t back down. She remained there, smiling pleasantly, until Bailey took a step backward and motioned her in.
Sarah entered and said, “I can put these in the kitchen for you. It looks like you were on your way out.”
“Thank you.” Bailey followed her.
The woman seemed to know her way around. She opened the refrigerator and set the food inside, then shut the door gently and straightened the towel that hung on the handle. She smiled at Bailey again. “So, you’re from Chicago?”
“Yes,” Bailey nodded. The woman certainly seemed to smile a lot. Is she covering up her disapproval?
“What do you do there? I think Missy told me but I can’t remember.”
“Missy?”
“Your mother. She talked about you a lot, she was very proud of you.”
Bailey stuck her foot on one of the kitchen chairs and began her pre-run stretches. “I’ve never heard her called ‘Missy’ before.”
Sarah watched the stretching. “Everyone around here called her that. Didn’t she tell you?”
“Nope.” Bailey switched legs. “Never heard it before. Even my father called her Melissa—no nicknames or anything cutsie. That’s why it surprises me.”
“She talked a
bout your father a lot, too. She loved him a great deal.”
Bailey stood up and looked at her guest. “Yeah, she did. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I was going for a run.”
Sarah glanced over Bailey’s physique. “You must run a lot. You’re in great shape.”
“Every day.” She knew her taut bare midriff and long, tanned legs were good looking. She worked hard to keep them that way. But the scrutiny made her uncomfortable, anxious to escape. Heading for the front door, she stopped to get her cell phone and keys from her purse, then reconsidered and put the phone back. “No damned reception in this one-horse town.”
“Guess there was reception at the cemetery.”
Bailey looked at her and blushed slightly, remembering how her phone rang during the minister’s final blessing. Evidently, the little cemetery which sat on a hill got great phone reception. Bailey hadn’t answered the call and had shut her phone off quickly, but the damage had been done. Her mother’s friends and neighbours had looked at her like she was a pariah.
Shrugging, Sarah commented, “Oh well. Hey, I put my name and phone number on the casserole dish—call me when you’re done with it and I’ll send my daughter to pick it up. Mandy’s fourteen and thinks Perry is the most boring place in the world to live. She’s dying to meet you, your being from the city and all.”
“Okay,” Bailey said hesitantly.
“If there’s anything we can do, please call. We thought the world of your mother and would be happy to help with whatever you need.” She stepped onto the porch and touched the handrail that led down the steps. It wiggled precariously. “Well, how did this happen?”
“What?” Bailey looked at the railing.
“This is broken. It’s not safe at all. I’m going to send my brother over to fix it.”
“Please don’t bother,” Bailey said. “I’m still trying to decide what to do with the house. I may have to hire someone to do some repairs if I’m going to sell it.”
Sarah replied, “Doug did all the repairs your mother needed. He knows this place inside and out.” She shook the rail one last time then looked at Bailey. “You’ll know him when you see him, he looks like me but taller with dark hair. His name is Doug Kenny.”
“I don’t know,” Bailey hesitated.
Sarah was insistent. “I’ll send him to fix this because it’s dangerous. You can do what you want after that.”
Bailey shrugged and decided she didn’t have much choice. “Well, thank you. And thanks for the food.”
“You’re welcome. Call if you need anything.”
“Uh, yeah,” Bailey answered, shoving her keys into her tight pocket and pulling the door closed. While it probably wasn’t necessary to lock her door in this little town, she was used to the city and did it out of habit. She left the other woman standing on the porch as she headed down the road for her four-mile run.
Later that evening Bailey showered and slipped into the pink silky tank top and pyjama shorts she wore to bed. She picked at the casserole the blonde woman had left her, deciding it was pretty good after all. Listening to the messages on her mother’s answering machine was depressing, but she needed to do it. Bailey erased them and took the cordless phone into her bedroom. She dialled a number and waited several rings to get an answer. “Hey baby,” she said softly to her boyfriend, Marc Nelson.
“Hey yourself, gorgeous. How’s it going?”
“Okay I guess. The whole thing is pretty overwhelming, actually.”
“I left a zillion messages on your phone.”
She chuckled. “And by a zillion you mean…?”
“Four. Screening your calls?”
“Not getting my calls. I’ve got no service in this Podunk town. I can give you the number here at the house.”
“Can you leave it with my secretary tomorrow? I don’t have anything to write with here in bed.”
“Yeah, sure,” she replied. “You in bed already? I hope you’re alone.”
He laughed. “You’ve only been gone a few days. Give me a little more credit than that, will you?”
She chuckled. “Just askin’. It’s pretty early.”
“Actually, I’m not alone. I’m surrounded by stacks of motions and briefs. We have opening arguments in the Anderson trial tomorrow.”
“Oh, yeah, how’s that going?”
“So far, so good. I’ll let you know more once we open. I may be a little out of reach for a while—I imagine we’ll be working later and later as we get into this.”
Bailey smiled. She knew Marc’s law practice was his number one priority. When they were together he made an effort to make her feel like she was number one, but she knew the truth. It was easier not to think about it when she was lying in his arms as he made love to her. But now she was three hundred miles away, and maybe it was a good thing. He wouldn’t have time for her during the trial anyway. “Well, good luck. I know you’ll do great.”
“Thanks, beautiful. I do miss you. This is not the way I prefer to warm up for the big game.”
“Ooh, me too. I wish I was there, for about an hour, at least. After that, you’d have your face buried in those papers anyway.”
He chuckled suggestively. “But just think where my face could be buried for that first hour…”
“Ooh, stop it! You’re making me want to hop in my car and come home. But you need your sleep, and I’ve got a shitload of stuff to do around here.”
“How was the funeral?” he asked, almost as an afterthought.
“Funeral-like,” she answered, not sure of the proper answer to that question. “Okay, I guess.”
“And how are you holding up?”
“I’m okay,” she said, unsure about the answer to that question, too.
“Well, I miss you,” Marc told her. “My dick is getting hard just talking to you.”
“Oh, now I’m really sorry I’m not there. Feel it and tell me just how hard it is.”
He chuckled, and she heard the sound of papers shifting around. “Oh, yeah, it’s pretty hard, Bay. When I squeeze it and stroke it up and down, there’s a little drop of cum on the tip.”
She moaned softly into the phone. “I’d lick that off if I was there.”
“Mmm hmm,” he muttered, breathing heavily.
Bailey could tell he was stroking himself.
“What else would you do?” he asked.
“Ooh, after I licked all over the sticky-sweet tip, I’d suck the length of your shaft into my mouth. I’d swallow you whole, with more suction than a Hoover.”
Marc groaned and Bailey grinned. “I’d squeeze your balls and suck them into my mouth too. Then I’d lick one of my fingers and trace a path from the slit at the top of your throbbing cock all the way down past your balls and run my wet finger around your puckering—”
“Aw, Jesus!” he swore, panting.
The grunting sounds he made were a good indication that he now had a mess to clean up.
“Oh yeah,” he mumbled. “That was good, very good.”
Bailey squirmed in her bed. It might have been good for him, but she was still horny and now very damp between the legs. She dragged her pyjama bottoms down and slid one hand into her valley. “Oh wow, I’m really wet. You should see it, baby, there’s probably a big old wet spot on the sheets.”
Marc chuckled again. “Slip your fingers in there and tell me how wet you are.”
She obliged and answered, “Really, really wet. My fingers slid right into my pussy, um, it feels hot and tight.”
“Now taste your fingers and tell me what I’m missing.”
Bailey withdrew her hand and inserted the sticky fingers into her mouth. She licked her juices and her pussy throbbed. “They’re sticky and hot, spicy tasting. They taste like your tongue after you’ve just eaten me.”
“Mmm, I’d love to be there doing that. You’ll have to imagine I am, baby. Rub your clit and make it nice and big.”
Bailey rubbed her fingers in little circles over her engorged clitoris. “It’s
big. It feels so good.”
“Pump your fingers in and out of your cunt. Do it fast, like it’s my cock and I’m getting ready to come.”
His words sent her over the edge, and Bailey cried out as her climax swept through her. “Oh yes!” she moaned, continuing to thrust her hand in and out of her drenched pussy until the throbbing stopped. “Sweet Jesus,” she whispered. “My sheets are soaked.”
“Damn, I wish I was there. Not a drop of that nectar would have gone to waste. I’d still be down there slurping it up.”
Bailey sighed. “I won’t be home for at least two weeks, possibly three.”
He sighed in return. “This trial is slated to last two weeks. We’ll both be busy.”
“No way you could slip away on the weekend?”
He didn’t answer, and she was sorry she brought it up. He was just starting a new trial, far too busy for a four-hour weekend trip. “Never mind. Good night, Marc.”
He seemed almost relieved. “Take care of yourself. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Good luck tomorrow,” she said softly. “Night.”
“Good night, Bay.” He hung up.
She tossed the phone on the nightstand, readjusted her pyjamas and snuggled down into the covers. Marc was a great guy, definitely cute with his thick, wavy blond hair and muscular build. He was fun to spend time with—especially in bed—but she wasn’t sure how serious they were. They’d only been dating a couple of months. She didn’t expect him to take off work and come here, but she wished he’d at least offered.
She was awakened the next morning by the sounds of a hammer pounding near the front of her house. Fumbling for the clock, she squinted to read it. Six-forty a.m. Still half asleep and disoriented from being in a strange bed, Bailey wandered out to the living room and opened the front door.