Clint blew out a sigh. “Because it wasn’t important.”
“Truth or dare,” she said.
“It’s my turn,” he reminded her.
“Truth,” she said.
“How the fuck do you know that slimeball’s room number?” Clint asked.
“He told me. I went to see him last night to rip him a new asshole about trying to bribe you.” Anya braced for the explosion.
“You went alone?” He actually got quieter. It was kinda scary but sexy as hell.
“I ended it. Told him he’d never have me and to go away and leave me alone.”
“What happened?” Clint said.
“I didn’t get the part in the play,” Anya said sadly. She’d had such plans for that role. Tipping Ben & Jerry into the trash, she sighed. At least life would get back to normal.
“I’m glad. You deserve better.”
“Truth or dare?” she asked, the last details of the plot coming together for her as she watched the traffic outside her hotel window.
He laughed softly over the phone. “Dare.”
“Let me lay out the plan for you,” she said, cracking her knuckles.
Chapter Twenty
About two hours into the job, it was apparent why Rita had passed it along to her. First of all, it was for plus-size clothes and that wasn’t her gig anymore. Second of all, the clothes were wretched. Anya would rather wear her grandmother’s tablecloth than half of this stuff. It would probably fit better. And the cherry on top of the shit sundae was that the photographer was a grade-A jackass.
“Look at me, sugar,” he said. “Pretend we’re making love on a bearskin rug.”
Anya snickered.
“You need to get serious, or you’re out on your fat ass.”
That was the last straw. “I don’t have to take that from you. You wear the dress. I’m gone.”
The professional part of her felt bad for not fulfilling the contract, but if she stayed she risked feeling bad about herself, and that shit was over. She was a model, damn it. A diva. So she walked off the set.
Grateful to be back in her own clothes, Anya squared her shoulders. She might not have gotten the off-Broadway play, but she was going to do some fantastic acting. Dialing Cesare’s number, she sat in her car and waited for him to pick up.
“Cara mia,” he purred.
“Oh, Cesare,” she said, putting a hitch in her voice. “You were right. How could I have doubted you?”
“I told you so, my darling.” He was such a smug bastard, she wanted to slap him upside the head.
Focus.
“I want to come with you to Italy. That is, if you still want me.” Anya lowered her voice to a sultry purr.
“It is all I ever wanted.”
“But what about Rita?”
“Forget her. The police came knocking on my door this morning looking for her.”
“Was she there?” Anya asked dryly before realizing she should sound more loving and less sarcastic.
“No, I haven’t seen her in days. Maybe she ran off with that stripper.”
“I don’t want to talk about him. He’s my past. You’re my future.” She put the back of her hand to her forehead in a mock swoon. Too bad he couldn’t see it.
“Where can we meet?”
Anya looked at her watch. “I’d love to see your penthouse again. Maybe we could have an early supper.”
“Excellent,” he crooned. “I’ll have everything prepared.”
“Is four o’clock good?”
“Eccellente,” Cesare said.
You bet your ass it is. She texted the information to Clint and she had the rest of the day to herself. At four o’clock on the dot, she was escorted up to the penthouse and Cesare was waiting for her with champagne.
“To us, my darling.”
She clinked his glass. “To the start of a beautiful future.”
They drank deeply, and Anya moved to the window. “You have a lovely view,” she said.
“The view is even more seductive with you standing there.”
He poured her another glass of champagne and leaned over to brush a kiss on her forehead. “You smell delectable. Your perfume is arousing me.”
Anya was pretty sure he had been aroused all day.
The knocking on the door pulled him back. He frowned at it.
“Room service?” Anya suggested, and went over to the bar for the limoncello.
“I’ll take care of it. If you’d like to get more comfortable, there’s a silk robe in the bedroom.”
“Uh-huh.” Anya smiled.
Cesare opened the door and his knees wobbled. “Magdalena,” he cried, his horrified voice stark with fear.
Magdalena strode in like a queen. In another life, Anya would have hated her. But since Anya was the one who had gotten her on a plane from Italy last night, she figured she could be a little more generous.
“You must be Cesare’s ex-wife,” Anya said. “Or is the divorce not final?”
She spit out a rapid slew of Italian that Anya had a hard time translating. But she got the gist of it. Magdalena was pissed and had a mouth like a sailor. She punctuated her sentence by slapping Cesare so hard his jaw sailed to the side.
“Magdalena, please,” he said, hyperventilating.
“It’s okay, Magdalena. We’re going to be married. He said he would make me his countess.”
“He says that to every American puttana willing to spread her legs for him. Pezzo di merda,” she said, striking him on the head with her purse.
“Oh, Cesare, how could you? I thought you were sincere. How will I ever go on with my heart in pieces?” Anya sobbed for melodramatic effect, but it was mainly lost on Cesare, who was ducking and weaving in between begging for forgiveness.
Taking the bottle of limoncello with her, Anya closed the door behind her. Clint was waiting for her in the parking lot.
“Going my way?” he asked, leaning against Anya’s car. “I drove the countess here in her rental car. She makes Rita look like an amateur. My ass is black and blue from her pinching it and I was sitting on it for most of the time.”
“They deserve each other,” Anya said.
“We deserve each other,” Clint said, kissing her.
Epilogue
Nefertiti waddled over to the sign. “Añejo, huh?” She gave a sidelong glance to Istvahn. “I like tequila.”
Anya didn’t see Istvahn react, but something delighted the hell out of Nefertiti, because she laughed long and hard. Colleen was perched on the bar stool with a shot of the ultra-premium tequila Ley Pasión Azteca poured for everyone.
“That’s a quarter-of-a-million-dollar bottle of tequila,” Clint muttered in her ear.
“Nothing but the best for your soft opening,” Anya said.
“That’s what she said,” Nefertiti joked.
Mallory and Max walked in a few moments later. Max shook Clint’s hand, while Mallory went over to Anya and gave her a hug.
“We can celebrate your soft opening later,” Clint whispered in Anya’s ear when Mallory went over to see what her sister was doing.
Winking at him, Anya went behind the bar. She tried out her new bartending skills by shaking up some cocktails for the group. Clint was teaching her how to make tequila drinks after-hours. They drank enough to get silly horny and wound up screwing on the bar. Not that Anya was complaining.
Añejo wasn’t supposed to open officially until the weekend, so tonight was just friends and family. Clint’s parents were at the bar already, looking so proud of their son. Anya had been terrified to meet them, but his mother had looked her up and down and nodded in approval, and his father had hugged her.
“No babies until you’re married,” she’d said, shaking her finger at Clint.
“We’re on a five-year plan,” Clint assured her.
After Cesare and Magdalena had left for Italy, Clint was sure he would reverse the funds. But when six months went by and he never did, Clint put the down payment on the
bar. He was frantic for the next few months, trying to strip, bartend, Dom, and start work on his own bar, until Anya put her foot down.
“Give up the stripping,” she had said.
“Most businesses fail in the first year. I have to have enough money to fall back on.”
“I have faith in you,” she told him.
Anya had been having a hard time finding another modeling job, though, after she told the photographer to kiss her ass. Luckily, Colleen was all fired up about Fierocity and building it up to be a huge success. They didn’t have a sales team or a buyer yet, but they’d added a plus-size line. Colleen’s enthusiasm was catching, and it wasn’t as if she couldn’t afford to throw money around on the project. Not only did Anya double her wardrobe, but she also became the face of the line. The YouTube video of her and Colleen dancing to Switchblade that had gone viral was the best free advertising they could ask for. Even if it had meant her agent, Trey, had found out she had been lying to him about her weight loss. Screw him.
“Everyone,” Clint said, “I want to make a toast.” He smiled down at Anya when she gave a loud whistle that cut through the background. “Thank you all for being here. Today is the day I’ve been looking forward to for a long time.” He reached into his pocket. Anya’s face froze. That couldn’t be what she thought it was.
Clint flipped open the ring box.
Anya clapped her hands to her mouth.
“I love you. You’re the only woman who ever forgot I was a stripper.”
“A what?” Clint’s mother asked.
“And saw me as a person,” Clint said over his mother’s interruption. “I knew we would be together, but I hadn’t known I loved you until that moment.”
Anya’s eyes filled with tears.
“Will you make this day perfect and agree to be my wife?”
Anya threw her hands around his neck. “Yes,” she said, pressing kisses all over his face. “I loved you when you shoulder-checked Cesare in the restaurant. Of course I’ll marry you.”
The crowd cheered.
“Why didn’t he get down on one knee?” Clint’s mother asked.
“A Dom doesn’t kneel,” Nefertiti told her.
“A what?”
To Mary and Tracy for all the inspiration and reading my crazy stuff at a moment’s notice.
BY JAMIE K. SCHMIDT
Club Inferno
Heat
Longing
PHOTO: EXPOSURES WWW.EXPOSUREMAX.COM
Jamie K. Schmidt has more than thirty stories in publication. In addition to sexy contemporaries, she writes a paranormal romance series featuring dragons and has coauthored a book with New York Times bestselling author and ex–porn star, Jenna Jameson.
Jamie holds a bachelor of arts degree from the State University of New York at New Paltz in secondary-education English. She’s also held various jobs as a call-center manager, a Tupperware consultant, a paralegal, and finally, a technical writer for a major corporation.
An avid knitter and jewelry maker, Jamie is never bored. She can often be found on the computer with a mug of tea, flanked by her chiweenie dog and fluffy white cat. You can follow her on Twitter at @Jamiekswriter or on her author page on Facebook. When she’s not writing or crafting, Jamie loves playing games, everything from board games to strategy card games to console and online MMORPGs.
www.jkschmidt.com
The Editor’s Corner
September 23, 2014, is the first day of autumn, and there is nothing like cool weather to encourage us to curl up and read a good book—that we need any additional encouragement, right? Here are some great Loveswept book ideas to help you fall into the new season.
USA Today bestselling author Mira Lyn Kelly’s new Dare to Love series debuts with Truth or Dare, a fabulous contemporary romance that fans of Jill Shalvis will adore. Laura Drewry returns this month as well with the witty and tender romance Prima Donna, featuring a sexy love-shy doctor. Debut author Claudia Connor introduces the McKinney brothers in Worth the Fall, where readers meet widowed mother Abby and Navy SEAL Matt, both seeking forgiveness and looking for a way to start over. A book I’m sure readers will devour is Control by Laura Marie Altom—runaway Ella escapes an abusive marriage, dot.com billionaire Liam is used to having control, and together they are explosive. Coinciding with the World Series, Katie Rose gives us The Boys of Summer with Bring on the Heat, introducing Chase and Darcy, (or is it Lydia?) in this mistaken-identity love affair. And if the weather gets a little too cool, heat it up with Longing by Jamie K. Schmidt, a lighter take on erotic romance, but don’t be fooled, Anya and Clint are hot!
Lastly, don’t miss the newest Flirt title: Lauren Layne’s Broken. The second book in her Redemption series tells the story of a girl with secrets, a guy with scars, and a love that could save them…or destroy them.
I hope you don’t miss these stories that will warm your heart and make you blush a little too! And share your favorites with friends—we all need a little cuddle-up time with a good book. Until next time…
~Happy Romance!
Gina Wachtel
Associate Publisher
Read on for an excerpt from
Control
By Laura Marie Altom
Available from Loveswept
1.
Julie
I was dead.
Withering at a dead-end job. Hiding from a dead marriage. Suffocating in a dead town.
Maybe that’s why when I studied the scruffy-haired guy who’d just ordered a hot dog from me at the Walmart snack bar, I sensed a connection. Because, honestly? As he sat in a far booth messing with his iPhone, waiting for his meal, he looked dead too. Skin pale—like he’d spent the past year in a cave. Stubble too long to be on purpose. Jawline not quite square enough, nose not quite straight enough. Even his clothes weren’t quite right. His red plaid shirt hung too loose on his rangy frame. His ass could’ve earned bonus points, but even his jeans missed the mark.
But then who was I to talk?
Sporting my blue Wally World vest, two-day-old ponytail, and a hairnet, I was hardly a great catch. Besides, I’d already been caught and had been paying for it every day since.
Despite the guy’s faults, something about him kept luring my gaze from the roller grill to his broad shoulders. It’d been forever since I’d been attracted to a guy on any level. To say my ex had done a number on me would be the understatement of the century. He’d taken my wide-eyed belief in happily-ever-afters that’d been instilled by a lifetime of Disney and shredded me, heart and soul. Now there was nothing left.
Except for the fear, I really did feel dead inside.
Only, what didn’t make sense is that this guy—this not even hot guy sporting scruffy dirty-blond hair—had stirred some long-buried emotion inside me. Kind of like how outside, brutal October wind skittered brown leaves clattering across the parking lot. For an all-too-brief moment, that wind lifted them to graceful flight, making them believe in a forever summer, only to ultimately, cruelly, slam them into the corners of the cart corral, where they’d lie forgotten and trampled until one day dissolving to dust.
I’d been to the circus and seen the strings. When—if—I was with a guy again, it’d be on my terms. For damn sure, no emotion would be involved. I’d never again give a guy the chance—the privilege—of even visiting my innermost world.
Needing this guy out of my snack bar, needing to rid myself of the voodoo his mere presence stirred inside, I focused on the roller grill, willing the sensor light to blink. When it finally did, I grabbed a paper food tray, then tonged his dog into a steamed bun, wishing my coworker and partner in crime, Willow, was there. She’d have cracked a dirty joke and instantly had me feeling better.
“Thanks. Got any wasabi mustard?” he asked after I’d stepped out from behind the counter to set his food on the brown laminate table.
Considering our locale of Rose Springs, Arkansas—AKA, the middle of butt-fuck nowhere—I didn’t even try hiding a smile. “
Seriously?”
“A guy can hope.” He reddened, then shrugged before blasting me with an insanely slow, insanely perfect white-toothed grin that played Frisbee with my stomach. And his eyes. How had I missed them in my earlier appraisal? They made me think of moss—the velvety, emerald-green kind that stays luxurious and serene through the most vicious winter.
Those eyes…
His lopsided grin…
He made that Frisbee soar.
And so I did something stupid for a girl who really needs her job. “The store stocks fancy mustard—you know, like Grey Poupon. Would that be okay?”
“Sure…” He sipped from his Pepsi. Though for the record, he’d ordered Coke, which the snack bar didn’t carry. Meaning, I’d already once let him down. “Thanks. But you don’t have to go to any trouble.” He wagged a mustard packet. His hands were large and nails well groomed for these parts, where most men worked dirty jobs. “The regular stuff will be fine.”
What if your smile makes me want to find fancy mustard? I couldn’t remember the last time a customer had even met my gaze, let alone considered whether or not they’d be trouble. “Sit tight.” For some unfathomable reason, I flashed a shy grin of my own. “I’ll call in a favor.”
Back behind the counter, I dialed the grocery department’s extension. Once I had Nathan on the line, I reminded him how many free scoops of neon nacho cheese I’d gifted him with during my six months on the job.
“Fancy mustard’s on the way,” I soon said to my customer.
“You’re awesome. Thanks.”
“No problem.”
While I stood wondering what to do with my hands, he fished his wallet from his back pocket, pulled out a twenty, then offered it to me. “For this level of service, you deserve a great tip.”
At first, I got all excited because with that much money I could afford milk, bread, and the big package of all-beef bologna. But then my pride kicked in, reminding me that even though this guy’s offer was kind, I now earned my own way. “You’re sweet, but we’re good.”
Longing: Club Inferno Page 19