by Jayne Rylon
A shiver ran down Logan’s spine when he realized she was singing the wedding march as she poured gasoline on the floor. Candles of all shapes and sizes ringed the room. It was only a matter of time until the fumes ignited and the whole thing went up in smoke.
Ben grunted and gurgled, no doubt telling them to get the fuck out of there. Pronto.
Unfortunately, he drew Myrtle’s attention to them.
“Have you come for the ceremony? I didn’t think anyone had gotten the invitations.” The toothy grin—complete with several black gaps—she leveled at them froze Logan’s heart. “So glad you could join us. Come in, come in.”
“Oh, Myrtle.” Kyana’s sigh was laced with enough pity to tug at Logan’s chest.
“You!” Instead of welcoming her, Myrtle became enraged. Logan wouldn’t have been surprised if she started foaming at the mouth. “You’re not welcome here, Rose. You home wrecker. Trying to steal my man. You’ve always kept him from me. He’s never seen anyone but you. Now that you’re gone, he’s mine. All mine. Get out! Get out!”
As she screamed, she waved her hands, sloshing more gasoline. Logan cringed, hoping the heavy fumes stayed low to the ground long enough for them to escape. Otherwise this place was going to go up like a firework on the Fourth of July.
Lacy doilies, curtains and piles of junk to rival an episode of Hoarders made perfect fuel. They had to get Ben and go. Surely they could fend off one little old lady, even if she was totally loony.
Daryl looked over at him. “You grab Ben, I’ll get Myrtle.”
Logan nodded. “Three, two, one.”
They rushed forward in unison. Daryl leaped the couch in an impressive imitation of an Olympic hurdler. Logan snagged Ben and threw the bound man over his shoulder. When he turned, the horror in Kyana’s face caught his attention. Before her scream left her lungs, he felt himself being thrown forward toward the door.
The impact left him shaking his head, trying to put things to right.
Fortunately, it seemed like Kyana and Ben had made it out of the danger zone and onto the soft mulch of the perfectly tended flower beds. They were huddled together as Ky worked the knots free on Ben’s ropes then helped him up.
Logan struggled to his feet, spinning to look for Daryl. The man hovered outside a flaming heart, which encapsulated the sofa Ben had been held captive on. Inside the horrifying shape, Myrtle danced. The train of her yellowed dress dragged perilously close to the fire.
Daryl tried to reach her. She spun out of his grasp. A flare-up prevented him from jumping across the boundary between them. Instead, he retreated several steps.
“Get out of there!” Logan shouted at their resident hero.
Daryl looked as if he might object until Myrtle lifted the can of gas over her head, drenched herself and gave one final curtsey that turned her into a living fireball. She cackled as she charged Daryl, trying to take him with her to her own personal hell.
“Fuck this.” He sprinted for the door, and Logan didn’t hesitate to follow.
They left the thick oak standing open.
Myrtle never emerged.
Hours later, Ben huddled together with Kyana and Logan around the table in the bright, cheery kitchen of Rose’s house. “This is getting to be a habit. Not that I don’t love spending time with you kids, but…we’ve got to quit doing this.”
Kyana took his hand in hers and squeezed. Logan did the same for her.
She smiled up at him, hoping they were about to call it a night. Again.
As if he could sense their restlessness, Ben rose. He shuffled toward the stairs and said, “It’s a shame about that couch. Myrtle was right. It was pretty comfy.”
Kyana just stared at him with her jaw hanging open while Logan cracked up.
“If you don’t laugh, you’ll cry.” Ben shook his finger at her. “And I’m not wasting any tears over that woman. Rose is the only lady who deserved those from us. Have a good night. And for the record, I’m taking my hearing aids out.”
Logan looked to Kyana. He wiggled his eyebrows.
She climbed into his lap right there at the table and kissed the shit out of him. When they were both breathless, she whispered, “I’d like to cash in my rain check for snuggles now.”
“Whatever you like, ma’am.” He carried her upstairs to their bed.
Epilogue
Six months later
Logan had never been so sure of something, and yet so nervous about it, in his entire life. He paced the sparkling kitchen of Ben’s house and snapped the box in his hand open then closed for about the gazillionth time. Inside, a simple antique band nestled among dark maroon velvet. It hadn’t broken the bank—which was shored up by the three jobs Nowak Construction had won after people had gotten sight of his craftsmanship—but something about the delicate scrollwork on the side had reminded him of Kyana.
He stood in the dark for a minute straight, breathing deep and slow. Then he took the flashlight from the countertop in front of him, flipped it on and covered it with his palm.
Dash dot dash.
“K.”
He only had to flash the sign three times before the high-powered beam reflecting off her bright-white ceiling roused her. Just like the old days.
Dash dot dash dash. Dot. Dot dot dot.
“Yes?”
A smile crossed his face despite the sweat making his thumb slick on the on/off switch. Now or never.
Dash dash. Dot Dash. Dot dash dot. Dot dash dot. Dash dot dash dash. Pause. Dash Dash. Dot.
“Marry me?”
No light answered his question. His heart tripped in his chest as seconds turned into a minute. He tried again.
Dash dot dash.
“K?”
Still nothing. Had he read her wrong this whole summer? Had he rushed her? It seemed like forever to him but maybe because he’d known what he really wanted from the time he was sixteen. If he screwed it up now, he’d never recover.
He set down the flashlight carefully on the freshly installed granite countertop, switched on the new pendant fixtures over the island, then sighed.
Right before the door burst open and Kyana raced in. She leapt into his arms from several feet away. The force of her advance didn’t matter. He caught her easily. Never would he drop her.
“Yes!” She took his face between her palms and kissed him over and over. Between each smack of her lips she said it again. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.”
“Mmm.” He nipped her lip then set her down. “Let me do this right.”
“What?”
“This.” He got to one knee on the new hardwood floors and popped open the ring box. “Kyana Brady, you are the only love of my life. Please stay with me. Let’s build something special. We’ve worked on this remodel together, just as we’ve revamped our relationship into something amazing. I thought it was only right that I ask you to be my wife, here in this house.”
“Yes. And yes again.” She practically jumped up and down, making him laugh as always.
It made it harder, though not impossible, for him to slide his ring onto her finger.
“It’s gorgeous, Logan.” She got misty-eyed as she inspected the band.
“I figured you could pick out a diamond. Or maybe something of Rose’s to wear with it.” It didn’t bother him anymore to think of her deep bank accounts. They shared everything. She’d made him see cash was just another example. Not the most important one by a stretch.
“I know just the piece.” She nodded. “I can’t believe this is real. It feels like a dream.”
“Stay awake a little bit longer.” He led her toward the counter, where an envelope rested.
“This is for you. Us. From Ben. An early wedding present,” he said. Logan waved at the paper, still unable to believe what was inside.
“What?” Kyana peered up at him as she unfolded the deed to Ben’s house. “Why?”
“He says we picked everything, it should be ours. And he wondered if you’d let him stay in
Rose’s house. Well, he asked to rent it. I already rolled my eyes at him for you.”
“It’s where he truly belonged, all this time.” Kyana sniffled. “Of course, Logan. Rose would love that.”
“And so will I.” Ben spoke softly from the doorway. “I’m so happy for you both. I feel like this is what I worked all those years for. To have you here. Like this—together. It was worth it. Every minute, every sacrifice.”
Logan and Kyana opened their arms and drew him into their circle.
The documents shook in Ky’s hand. Something fell to the floor.
“What’s that?” Ben stooped to claim it. When he saw what it was he froze. “Where did this come from? I put those papers in there myself this morning. The deed was the only thing in the envelope.”
Kyana and Logan peered over his shoulder at the bright red rose petal he held clasped in his fingers. They looked to each other and shrugged.
Ben smiled.
About the Author
Jayne Rylon is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author. She received the 2011 Romantic Times Reviewer Choice Award for Best Indie Erotic Romance. Her stories usually begin as a daydream in an endless business meeting. Writing acts as a creative counterpoint to her straight-laced corporate existence. She lives in Ohio with two cats and her husband, who both inspires her fantasies and supports her careers. When she can escape her office, she loves to travel the world, avoid speeding tickets in her beloved Sky and, of course, read.
You can visit Jayne on the web at www.jaynerylon.com and she loves hearing from fans at [email protected].
Look for these titles by Jayne Rylon
Now Available:
Nice and Naughty
Play Doctor
Dream Machine
Men In Blue
Night is Darkest
Razor’s Edge
Mistress’s Master
Powertools
Kate’s Crew
Morgan’s Surprise
Kayla’s Gifts
Devon’s Pair
Nailed to the Wall
Hammer It Home
Compass Brothers
(Written with Mari Carr)
Northern Exposure
Southern Comfort
Eastern Ambitions
Western Ties
Print Anthologies
Three’s Company
Love’s Compass
Coming Soon:
Compass Girls
(Written with Mari Carr)
Winter’s Thaw
Hope Springs
Hot Rods
King Cobra
Mustang Sally
Super Nova
Men in Blue
Spread Your Wings
Play Doctor
Healing Touch
Print Collections
Love Under Construction
Powertools
Two to Tango
She’s got the rhythm, but he’s got all the right moves.
Ballroom Blitz
© 2012 Lorelei James
A Two to Tango Story
After years on the road, rock drummer Jon White Feather is home from tour to reassess his music career. When his shy niece begs him to take a ballroom dancing class, Jon agrees, aware he’s not Fred Astaire material. Still, it stings when his sexy-hot instructor—who makes his heart do the cha-cha—deals his ego a low blow: he has no rhythm.
Maggie Buchanan is doing everything to make ends meet since her IT career fizzled, including teaching couples dancing at the community center. She’s prepared for anything—except her immediate attraction to the bad boy rocker who doesn’t know his right foot from his left.
As Jon sets out to prove he can rock his body—and hers—their sexual chemistry burns a path across the dance floor, straight to the bedroom. And Maggie wasn’t expecting a man with limited dance skills would know exactly how to sweep her off her feet.
Warning: Sweet and hot…this couple knows how to bump and grind.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Ballroom Blitz:
But the second night was more of the same torture. Jon was hapless and Raven tried not to act annoyed or mortified about the extra attention they received from the instructors because of his screw ups.
However, Jon certainly didn’t mind having Maggie’s soft curves pressed against him as she walked him through the dance steps. The woman was an enigma; confidently giving instructions to the entire class and yet blushing so prettily when they were pressed body to body. He was actually sorry when class ended.
After the rest of the students took off, Jon noticed Raven wasn’t racing out the door, but in deep conversation with Seth. He wandered over to where Maggie sat on the bench, changing shoes.
“So it is true,” he said, sitting sideways on the bleachers beside her.
Maggie glanced up. “What is true?”
“There is such a thing as putting on your dancing shoes.” Lame, Jon.
“Different types of dancing shoes for different dances. Probably like you use different drums for different parts of a song?”
“You’d be correct.” He angled forward. “So while I’ve got you alone…give it to me straight. Am I failing class?”
The corners of her lips curled into a smile even as she remained focused on buckling her shoe. “This isn’t a pass-fail situation. I’m giving you an A for extra effort.” Maggie’s eyes met his briefly before her attention drifted to his arms. Her gaze started at his wrist and moved up to his bicep. “I’ll admit I’ve been admiring your cool tattoos during class.”
“Do you have any tats?”
“No. Never had much chance to see artwork designs up close to see what my options are.”
He held his arms out. “Go ahead and take a closer look if you want. See if there’s anything you like.” Feel free to touch as much as you want.
Her eyes clearly broadcast I want, even if her alluring mouth stayed closed.
The first tentative touch on his forearm was potent as an electric charge. He held himself still, willing that charge not to travel straight to his dick.
Her cheeks were flushed. Her blue eyes bright. Tendrils of reddish-blond hair had escaped from her tight bun, tempting Jon to loosen it completely and crush the soft stands in his hands. Or smooth the strands back into place just to touch that creamy-looking skin. Maggie unsettled him. She was wholesome looking and a little shy—not his usual type. So his immediate attraction to her was baffling. Not unwelcome, just confusing. Question was, did she feel the same pull?
Yes, if he went by the way her hand trembled when she touched him.
When her soft fingertip drifted over the crease of his arm, he bit back a growl. Oblivious to his response, she continued the northerly progression, one hand clamped around his wrist, the other hand driving him out of his mind with a mix of innocent curiosity and overt sensuality.
“Are these marks tribal symbols?” she asked, continually caressing the same section of black swirls and scrolls.
“I told a buddy of mine who’s an artist I wanted markings with a tribal feel, but more artistic. So they don’t mean anything specific.”
“So it’s wearable art that’s unique to you.” Her thumb swept across the stylized barbed wire motif on his bicep. “Even if the design was used on another person it wouldn’t look the same. Your skin coloring gives it a different dimension. As does your musculature.” She ran a fingernail on the underside of his arm. “Your biceps and triceps are amazing.”
“I can’t take credit for that.”
“I’m pretty sure you weren’t born with all these muscles.” Maggie looked at him, as if startled by what she’d said.
When she attempted to remove her hand, Jon placed his palm over hers. “Thank you. Most of the time I get grief for the tats. I’m happy to hear a beautiful woman appreciates them.”
“I do.” She wet her lips and her gaze dropped to his mouth.
Sweet Jesus. She was killing him. Everything about her embodied soft an
d sweet—her hands, her mouth, her eyes, her tender touch. Which ironically enough, made him hard as a fucking drumstick.
“Maggie?” Seth called out.
They both jerked back.
“Yes, Seth?” she said a little breathlessly.
“Can you show Raven a couple of steps?”
Maggie said, “Sure,” and stood. She faced him. “Truly magnificent, Jon.”
“Glad you like them.”
“I wasn’t talking about the tattoos.” Then she spun, leaving him staring after her.
Whoa. That comment had dripped with sexual sizzle.
Hmm. Maybe Maggie Buchanan wasn’t as soft and sweet as he first believed.
He kissed the girl and he liked it. Now to convince her it could be love…
A Touch of Confidence
© 2012 Jess Dee
A Two to Tango Story
When a coveted retail space opens up in Rose Bay, Claire Jones and her sisters waste no time grabbing the perfect spot to relocate their expanding children’s bookshop. But when Claire arrives to sign on the dotted line, she discovers someone else got there first.
Worse, the new tenant is shaking hands with a man who is definitely not the elderly Jack Wilson with whom she made a verbal agreement three days ago. This Jack Wilson is a tall, hunky giant—and no amount of righteous indignation can mask her body’s bone-deep sexual response.
Jack never planned to take over the family company; he’s a teacher, not a businessman. But with his grandfather in the hospital, he’s taken up the reins—and steered straight into trouble. Now he’s faced with a serious mistake, and a beautiful, Amazon warrior of a woman who’s demanding satisfaction.
He’d love to give it to her, but his idea of satisfaction has nothing to do with business, and everything to do with getting the curvy goddess naked. The sooner the better…