by Sharon Kleve
A muscle flexed in his jaw like he was waging an internal war with pent-up demons. Her heart raced. She wasn’t so sure she wanted to go inside.
Tara shook her head. “Does this have anything to do with why we split up in high school?”
He nodded.
She glanced at the lighthouse.
Ryder opened his door, walked around the front of the car and opened hers. “Come on.”
She sat there for a moment, not wanting to get out. By the scowl on his face, it couldn’t be good. “We don’t have to do this,” she said.
“Yes, we do. There’s a reason why you remembered everything, but me.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Tara got out of the car. Ryder shut the door and took her hand. He led her up the sidewalk to the lighthouse. Right before going inside, she pulled away from him, shaking her head. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to go in.”
“Tara, I haven’t been completely honest with you.”
She frowned. “Are you married?”
He chuckled. “No. I would have told you that.”
“Then what is it?”
“Come inside, and if it doesn’t come back to you I’ll tell you myself.”
“Ryder, you’re scaring me.”
He stepped in and trapped her face in his hands. “I’m scared too, baby.”
“Of what?”
“Of losing you, again.”
“If this is about me going back to Corpus Christ, we can work around that. If you’re going to stay in Key West, I can move back, too. I hear the city attorney’s off office is looking for a--”
He looked down and she paused wondering if she’d misread him. Maybe he didn’t want her to move back to Key West. Or, for them to get back together.
“I don’t know what you want, Ryder. Enlighten me.”
His chest began to heave and he lowered his head like he would kiss her, then just like on the porch he didn’t. This time she wasn’t having it. She waited until he leaned in a second time and threw her arms around his neck. The muscles in his broad shoulders tensed beneath her hands. She captured his mouth with an urgency that even surprised her.
Images started rushing back at her at an incredible pace. Ten years ago, they were engaged and at the lighthouse. Ryder had been distant and stand-offish all day, but when she asked him what was wrong, he wouldn’t let her in. The next morning, he was gone.
Now, here it was ten years later, they were standing in the lighthouse and she still didn’t know why he’d left.
Staring up at him, she remembered every tear she’d shed, every sleepless night she’d cried herself to sleep. And the day, hour and minute she promised herself she would never waste another tear on him again.
Glassy-eyed, he swallowed hard like he was trying to bring himself to say what he couldn’t ten years ago.
“After we left the lighthouse that night, I went home and lay awake all night trying to get my head on straight.”
“Why didn’t you talk to me, Ryder? We could have postponed getting married until you were ready. But to just up and leave like that—”
“Tara, I’m so sorry.” He reached up to touch her face and she turned away.
“Please,” he said. “Let me back in.”
“Why? So you can hurt me again?”
“I never wanted to hurt you the first time.” He dropped his head. “I was eighteen. I panicked.”
“The lightning didn’t erase you from my memory. It was my subconscious trying to protect what was left of my heart.”
“Have you fallen in love with someone else?”
She forced a laugh. “Thanks to you, Ryder, I have pushed away every man that has ever tried to get close to me.”
A tear leaked out onto her cheek. He reached out and caught it with his thumb. This time Tara didn’t pull away. And, when he rested his forehead to her forehead, she heard him whisper, “Forgive me.”
“I thought I was over you. I’m not...”
When their lips touched, she knew there was no turning back. Groaning, he pulled her to his warm chest and kissed her so passionately she whimpered against his mouth. She parted her lips and it was an invitation he took. His tongue made sweeping, swirling motions inside her mouth reminding her of punch. Sweet and delicious.
He pulled back, petting the side of her face and staring down at her with a wild, untamed look, like that of a predator, and she was the prey. He reclaimed her mouth, suckling first her bottom lip then the top until her lips felt like two swollen, ripe plums. His tongue stroked the inside of her mouth, causing her to tremble.
In breathless urgent gasps, he pressed his forehead to her forehead. “This reminds me of the first time—”
She silenced him with a finger. “Don’t tell me. Show me.”
Her words forced the breath from his lungs. He reached down and removed her high heels then carried them up the stairs, pulling her up with him.
Inside the dome at top of the lighthouse, he tossed her shoes to the side of the room, fisted his shirt and gave it a hard jerk. Buttons pinged off the brick walls and ricocheted off the popcorn ceiling, then landed on the beige Berber carpet at their feet.
As he worked the clasp loose at his waistband and tugged at her dress, she knew she’d given up on him ever coming back, but she’d never stopped loving him.
He cupped each breast and squeezed then gently kneaded them with his fingers. Rolling her head back, she moaned as he pulled her dress down, wet first one rosy tip and then the other creating sensations that only he could create.
He shoved her dress down over her hips, and she stepped out of it then watched him remove his pants. He kicked them aside with his blatant, arousal protruding from his body. There was a counter off to one side and he lifted her up and set her on the edge.
Using his hands, he spread her legs and gently nipped the inside of her thighs, inching his way closer to that sweet spot where she was most needy and desperate. His tongue seared a path from her moistened depths to the tiny quivering bud nestled between petal-soft folds.
In punctuated gasps, she cried out, “Ryder, please.”
“I know, baby,” he said in shallow pants, “Me too.”
The harsh reality came crashing down on her. There was no turning back. For either of them. Grasping his swollen member, he teased her center with a few quick strokes. She sucked in a lungful of air when he drove into her, stretching her depths to accommodate him.
With each rhythmic thrust, she tipped her hips, taking all of him. Not only did she accept each push, she matched it. Flesh slapped against flesh. Once, twice, until she found what she was seeking. An explosion so soul-shattering he must have felt it too. Sucking air through his teeth, he cried out her name right before that final moment of ecstasy when he allowed his molten juices to mix with hers. Two hearts beating as one.
After ten agonizing years, they were finally reunited.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Six months later...
Tara pulled her cell phone out as one of the movers carted out the last packing box to their truck. She stuffed the phone to her ear.
“Hey,” she said, grinning.
“What are you wearing?” Ryder’s voice was laced with a heavy dose of pure sex.
“Clothes. The movers are here, remember? Anyway, I should be leaving for the airport within the hour.”
“If you miss your flight, I’m coming to get you.”
She chuckled. “Yeah, like Jerry’s really going to give you time off from the garage.”
“Can I help it if I miss my new bride?”
“Ryder, I’ve only been gone two days—”
“That’s two days too long, Mrs. City Attorney.” There was a slight pause. “Tara?”
“Yeah, Mr. Body Man?”
“I love you...”
“I love you more.”
The door to her apartment opened. One of the movers held up an inventory sheet for her to sign.
“I’ll be right there,
” she told him.
“Who are you talking too?” Ryder asked.
“A man with a clipboard.”
“Baby, you need to talk to a man with a red Corvette.”
Tara couldn’t stop smiling. “I’ll see you at the airport tonight.”
“I’ll be there...”
ABOUT TAMMY TATE
How Cancer Has Touched My Life…
Several years back, I lost a very important male, role model to cancer. My father. When he was first diagnosed, I thought if anyone could beat this horrific disease, it was my dad. He was so strong, and full of life. A real fighter. Three months later…he passed away. When my publisher asked me if I wanted to write a short story to be included in a book of short stories called “Code Redhead” and donate proceeds to help fund cancer research, three words came to mind. “COUNT…ME…IN”
Tammy Tate was born and raised in Hollywood, Florida but has lived most of her adult life in Texas. Her passion to write began in high school. It follows her everywhere she goes...creating a world where anything is possible. She’s been married to the same wonderful man for over thirty years. Her secret to a long marriage? It’s easy when you marry your best friend. In her world, Friday night is still date night.
Before she became a full-time author, she was an Executive Secretary, a Computer Consultant/Technician, and a Communications Officer (Police Dispatcher). She doesn’t mind a challenge which has allowed her to race a late-model in a women’s powder puff race, run barrels and poles in a play-day rodeo and drive an 18-wheeler. Somewhere in between, she and her husband raised three wonderful children. When she’s not breathing life into her characters or jotting down ideas for a new book, she’s engaged with her fans.
Since she believes reading is the next best thing to writing, she enjoys romance, fantasy, science fiction and thrillers. In December of 2013, she signed her first book contract with a traditional publisher. Her books have made Amazon’s Best Seller list.
Above all, she loves to hear from you…
Here are ways to connect:
Email: [email protected]
Fan Page: www.facebook.com/tammytateauthor
Twitter: https://twitter.com/authortammytate
Blog: http://authortammytate.blogspot.com
Red-HOT by Tina Donahue
Erotic Romance
CHAPTER ONE
Eric Neal shouldered past too much humanity at 2Nite, a popular Manhattan dance spot. Lyrics shrieked, bass pounded, orange, yellow, and purple spotlights swept past, the neon colors bright enough to burn retinas.
After a brutal day’s work, he should have fled this commotion for his staid club and a relaxing swim followed by a few drinks. He couldn’t now.
She drew him to her.
His breathing picked up. Cock thickened. Balls tightened.
In a sea of outrageous colors, her flame-red hair stood out like a sultry beacon. Cut as short as a guy’s, those glossy waves were somehow dangerously feminine.
He grinned.
An elbow rammed into his arm, another in his back. He gasped.
Someone shouted, “Sorry, man.”
Wincing, he sidestepped the voice’s owner and craned his neck.
Arms above her head, she bounced in place and pumped her fists to This is My Fight Song. Her gyrations weren’t exactly dance steps, but more like Sylvester Stallone’s moves in Rocky when he’d jumped up and down outside the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Given the sweltering summer night, she wore a silvery tank top that glittered wildly. Her super-short black skirt bobbed above her slender thighs.
Eric swigged his Heineken.
Her combat boots ruled. Adorable and oddly sexy, pulling him closer.
Perspiration beaded on her temples. A soft rose tint blushed beneath her pale skin, not a freckle in sight.
He guessed her to be mid-twenties or so. If it hadn’t looked weird, he would have leaned closer and tried to catch her scent.
She opened her eyes.
Those babies couldn’t have been bluer, her features cute, rather than drop-dead gorgeous, fitting her perfectly.
His legs weakened.
She grinned and danced for him alone, it seemed, their gazes welded. When she turned, he followed and circled her.
Her laughter tinkled within the raucous noise. He joined her, enjoying himself.
The music wound down. She lifted her face to the ceiling, exposing her long, creamy throat. “Whew. That was something.”
No fucking kidding. A few times in his life, sex hadn’t been this good.
Without asking, she took his beer, enjoyed a long sip, and returned the bottle with a sweet smile. “Thanks, I needed that. Hey.”
Her husky voice surprised him. “Hey. You were really into the song.”
“Yeah?” She fingered beer off her lips.
If she’d given him the chance, he would have licked the drops away.
The couple behind her horsed around and ran into her. She lurched forward.
Eric caught her arm to keep her from falling. Her cinnamon-and-vanilla scent enhanced her natural musk. His heart walloped. “You okay?”
“Never been better.” She beamed. “Thanks for rescuing me. I’m Rusty. Short for Russell.”
He stepped back as far as he could on the crowded dance floor. Unlike the other women here, she wasn’t busty. Her boobs were barely a handful for a man. What some might call pert and hopefully real. Courtesy of nature not doctor-prescribed hormones. “Huh?”
Her laughter pealed above the others’ shouted conversations. “Don’t worry. Dad named me—his only child and daughter—in honor of my grandfather. I’m not a guy.”
Thank god. That would have been disappointment he couldn’t have handled. “Nice to meet you, Rusty. I’m Eric.” He offered his hand.
She slid her fingers across his, her palm satiny and warm.
His mouth got drier than dust. He squeezed gently and stroked her thumb. “You come here often?” This was his first time. For some reason, he’d gone through the front door tonight rather than walking past this place as he usually did.
“I come whenever I can, if I’m not busy.”
“Working?”
“Or protesting. You gotta do what you gotta do to make things right. Agreed?”
He supposed. “What do you protest?”
Her reddish eyebrows lifted. He wasn’t certain if she was surprised or excited by his question.
“Unfairness. People taking advantage of others because they can. Stuff that needs to change.” She smiled broadly. “I’m proud to say the cops ordered me to get lost at OWS.”
Occupy Wall Street. Eric had seen the disturbance from his office window. His fellow attorneys had laughed off the protest as a mere nuisance. Nothing that would damage them or the corporate heads they represented. Of all the women for him to meet, he had to choose one who would probably snarl at his occupation. Maybe kick him in the balls when he would have preferred she fondle them.
Good sense told him to bow out gracefully and run for the street. He couldn’t budge. Didn’t want to. Her scent was too entrancing. Everything about her fascinated him. If she wouldn’t have thought him odd, he would have held onto her hand for hours. Her other parts too. Reluctantly, he released her. “What do you do when you’re not protesting? Where do you work?”
“For my dad.” She took the beer, enjoyed another sip, and licked her lips. “But I’m also developing a website.”
Eric warned himself not to stare too much at her mouth or her tongue. Wet and pink, it kept darting out to lick her ruby-red lips. “Yeah? What are you trying to sell?”
“Nothing.” She frowned. “That’s the point.”
She wanted to discuss her revolution. Who was he to deny her? “You’re creating an informational spot for what’s wrong with the world?”
“Not a bad idea.” Her lovely smile returned. “But that would take more time than I have and people don’t bother reading stuff even if it’s the truth. They’re too
busy surviving. That’s what I’m trying to help them with.”
Weapons, ammunition, and dried foodstuffs came to mind. Items survivalists coveted. He hoped that wasn’t what she was talking about. “Sorry, I’m not following.”
“No prob. Let me explain.” She touched his forearm.
He’d folded his shirt sleeves back. Skin touched skin. His sizzled. “Sure. I’d like that.”
Her cheeks flushed. “I’m into bartering. Forget retail and even eBay. There’s already enough stuff in this world. Actually, too much. It’s only making the one-percent richer. Like they need it.” She made a face. “My site’s going to help people connect so they can trade their things. No lucre involved. You need a shirt? Fine. You offer a purse for it or whatever else you have and don’t need any longer. Want a ride? You babysit or fix something for the other person to pay for the service. Great, huh?” She looked at him expectantly.
No way would he argue. The idea wasn’t half bad. There were already several sites like that around. Could be she’d somehow make hers different from them. “Yeah, that’s cool. Are you planning to do this full time someday rather than working for your dad?”
“It’s my dream. He’s a great guy, the absolute best, but this is something I have to do.”
“I can see that.” Rarely had he witnessed such naked joy except when he’d pleased a woman in bed or had given her an expensive gift. Rusty’s delight transcended anything purely sexual or distastefully material and touched him in a way he hadn’t expected. “Mind if I ask a question?”
“Not at all.” She squeezed his arm gently. “I love talking about this. Most of the time, guys run in the other direction. Especially around here.”
They were near the Financial District.
He struggled not to laugh. “Bastards. They should stick around and learn something.”
“No kidding. What did you want to know?”
Everything about her. What she liked to do besides dance and protest. Her favorite books, films, food. Her past and present. What she did for her dad. Eric guessed she worked as an admin or maybe manned the front counter at their family deli. Selling new stuff there couldn’t bother her. Everyone had to eat. Given how much she liked her dad, he couldn’t have been a titan of industry. “When you’re working full-time for yourself, how are you going to live if you’re not offering anything for sale? Where’s the money going to come from?” He stroked her fingers. “You’re not a trust-fund baby, are you?”