Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015

by Melinda Curtis

  "You did fine before."

  "One reason I focused so much on you, instead of letting you participate," he admitted. "Even though I was dying to have you do your touchy-feely thing on me."

  "Touchy feely thing?" She raised her brows.

  "You know, the way you're always touching everyone." His hands roamed down her back until he reached her butt, and stopped to fondle it. "I was jealous."

  "You were? Of whom?" She couldn't remember doing anything sexual other than with him.

  "Anyone." His voice was a low growl. His fingers tightened on her. "I wanted your hands on me."

  "I'll be happy to touch you as much as you like." She massaged his chest, stopping to pinch a nipple.

  He groaned.

  "Even if it does make you go off too soon," she teased.

  "I should get better with practice." He winked at her. "Lots and lots of practice."

  She laughed. He was incorrigible.

  "In fact," he said, "I think we should start practicing right now." He pumped his hips slowly against her. "If you want to remove these clothes, I would really like to make love to you properly."

  "I can't." No one regretted that more than she did.

  "Sorry I didn't give you a warning earlier that I was going to come in your mouth." He thrust a hand behind her neck and gently massaged her. "Is that bugging you?"

  "I did forbid you from speaking."

  "Tyrant." He raised her skirt and thrust his hands inside her panties. They exchanged smiles and something precious flowed between them, a tenderness that warmed Miranda even more than the arousal flaming to life under his hands.

  She shook her head. "No, that's not bugging me. I enjoyed it. But I do need to leave. Sharmie and I have a flight tonight at 6."

  He frowned. "Are you yanking my chain? I thought we'd settled all that."

  "All what? I told you nothing was settled."

  He slid his hands to her shoulders and gripped her. "I want to marry you. I intend to marry you." He gave her a swift, hard kiss. "There. That's settled."

  "Bossy and controlling," she grumbled. "That's not what I call a proposal."

  He grinned at her. "Now that I know what you like to do when you're in charge, I'm always willing to cede control. You want to take over?" He moved one hand to her breast and began playing with her.

  "You're distracting me." Her breath had gotten trapped somewhere, and her hips were searching out the best fit for that hard bulge thrusting against her.

  "Just say, 'Devonwood, will you marry me so I don't have to go back to New York tonight?'"

  "Devonwood," she began. "Will you—will you—"

  His hands were busy under her skirt. She heard a tear and he flung her panties aside.

  "Marry me," he prompted. He grabbed her hips and adjusted them so that her now-naked opening was perfectly lined up with him. He was hot and hard against her and she wanted him.

  "Marry me," she gasped. "So—so—"

  He probed, but didn't enter her. At the same time, he kissed her, a hard, bruising kiss, his tongue surging into her mouth. When he released her, his eyes were wild and his cheekbones flushed. "I love you, Miranda."

  She dropped her head onto his chest, feeling his muscles flex under her cheek. "I love you, too."

  Lifting her chin with his finger, he looked into her face and smiled. "There. Is that finally settled?"

  She nodded.

  "Excellent." He probed a little further between her legs. "And now, at the risk of repeating myself, may I say - take me. I'm yours."

  She slid home.

  The End

  A Note from the Author

  Thank you for reading Duke of Devonwood. I hope you enjoyed it!

  Would you like to know when the next book in the series is available? Who would you like the story to feature? You can sign up for:

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  If any links don't work, please check here for an updated list:

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  Carly has many other romance books available. Please check at your retailer or on her website.

  All reviews are welcome.

  Bio of Carly Carson: Carly will probably never marry into the British nobility, as she is already happily married to Traveling Man. But there's nothing wrong with a little fantasy in one's life, right? She has three children, who provide a daily dose of reality, even though they are almost perfect (just ask them!). Carly loves traveling, outdoor sports, reading, visiting, and her large extended family.

  True North

  Kelly Collins

  Copyright © 2014 by:

  Kelly Collins

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  This book was built at IndieWrites.com. Visit us on Facebook.

  Dedication

  As always my thanks go to my husband and my

  children who make my life a pretty place to live.

  To my sisters who are always there to lend a helping

  hand or a swift kick in the pants depending on

  what is needed at the time.

  To my mother who is my biggest fan. Thanks for scanning my books for hours searching for that one error that needed to be corrected. Your eye is appreciated.

  To my friends who read my books and love me anyway.

  A special thanks to Delaine Roberts who stood behind me and had my back during some of the tough times. You will never know how important your friendship is to me.

  Marion, you polished and perfected this book, and without you it would be less than it is.

  Praise and Awards

  “This story is an excellent reminder of protecting one's assets. Fun, enjoyable romance” Why is the lead male character is paying teenage girls cash? Interesting story line, great dialogue and believable characters.”

  ~ Bookzilla

  “Kelly Collins has a gift for drawing the reader into the story. She tells you just enough to get you hooked and builds your curiosity to want to learn more. True North followed suite. There is depth and layers with the two main characters of True North that will surprise you as read further into the story.”

  ~ Joy Capps

  Chapter 1

  Sweat drips from my forehead. I swipe at my wet hair trying to get it off my face. Without the humidity in the air, your lungs want to shrivel and die with each breath, add in the heat and you have a recipe for disaster.

  Disaster, that’s exactly what I’m facing. Sitting outside of my broken down car on a lonely stretch of highway between Los Angeles and freedom was not my plan. I paid a mere nine hundred dollars for an old Toyota Camry, but I had hoped it would get me more than a few hundred miles outside of L.A. I knew I was in trouble when the oil light came on. I was screwed the minute the check engine light blinked rapidly, and the engine began to sputter. I pushed the green beast as far as it would go and pulled over to the side of the road as it died a slow death. I managed to choke out another mile before it coughed and collapsed, leaving me sitting here on the open highway with the sun high in the sky.

  Sweat drips from my chin and lands on my chest. A constant bead of perspiration pools between my breasts. With the car door open, I sit on the torn leather-like upholstery of the driver’s seat, trying to protect myself from the sun. I don’t know what’s worse: the heat, or the feeling of despair.

  Only two cars have passed in the same amount of hours. One cruised by while I was peeing behind my car, and one floated by without giving me a second
glance. Who does that? Who leaves a woman alone on a deserted highway in 120-degree heat?

  I sip on the Gatorade I purchased seventy miles ago. The last town I passed was very small; a gas station was all that it had. I filled up my tank, bought a drink and a Twinkie, and headed north.

  Holding my head in my hands, I reflect on the last few weeks. His voice still echoes in my ears.

  You fucking bitch, you know that you will never get away with it. How could you ever think you could outsmart me? I am the master planner, not you, not your father. I found you, and I seduced you with promises and sweet words of affection. You were fucking pathetic. Your father was worse. He was so intent on getting a son––any son, that he basically gave me a partnership to marry you.

  I shake my head trying to forget it all. That was my past; I have no plans for the future. I’m free now, free of Tyler, free of my treacherous family, and finally free of pain. My immediate plan is to get a ride to the nearest town, get my heap of junk towed, and find a place with air conditioning.

  The heat rising from the asphalt gives the road a wavy, wet look. I glance in both directions. Although, I would rather head north, I am willing to go in any direction if it takes me away from here.

  In the distance, I see the sun reflecting off something. I have no idea what it is. The last hour, I’ve been like a nomad in the desert, seeing mirages of every type. I stand and stare, hoping beyond hope the reflection morphs into a vehicle of some sort. I’m ready to throw myself into the center of the road to stop anyone.

  I watch the glimmer of light in the distance and feel a sense of relief when the distinctive outline of a vehicle becomes clear. I begin to wave my arms wildly, hoping that whoever is driving will see me and stop. The heat is unbearable, and I’m beginning to feel sick to my stomach. I won’t last out here much longer. I’m sweating more than I’m drinking, it won’t be long before I’m past the point of dehydration.

  As the vehicle gets closer, I realize by the grill that it is a truck. I jump up and down trying to grab the driver’s attention. The truck whizzes by. I fall to the ground in a heap and cry. With my head hidden in my hands, I shed the tears that have been building up for the last year. I sob uncontrollably. My hope fades as fast as a pair of jeans soaked in bleach. I’m in such a state that I don’t hear the truck approach, or the man driving it walk over to me.

  A tap on my shoulder sends me scurrying backward in a spider crawl. My eyes shoot up to a large imposing figure looming in front of me. His shadow gives me much needed respite from the sun, but his presence alarms me. Fear squeezes my chest, forcing my pounding heart to pump harder. Where did he come from?

  “Hey, are you okay? I saw you as I passed, but I didn’t react fast enough to stop. I came back.”

  In a stupor, I stare up at the man. I have no words. My only reaction is to bury my head in my hands and cry. The stranger kneels beside me and talks softly.

  “How long have you been out in this heat? Let’s grab your stuff and get you in my air-conditioned truck. I can take you to the edge of town; there’s a motel there, it’s a dump, but it’s clean. I own the bar across the street. We have cold drinks and hot food.”

  I feel his hand wrap around my upper arm and pull me into a standing position. I’m dwarfed by his size. He towers over me in the most terrifying way, and yet I’m relieved that someone has finally stopped to lend a hand. I take my free hand and wipe the snot from my dripping nose. I must look a mess.

  “Grab your stuff, we can get Todd to tow your car tomorrow.”

  I still haven’t uttered a word; I reach into the car to pick up my purse, and take the keys out of the ignition. It strikes me as funny when I lock up my vehicle. It’s not like someone can hotwire it and drive away. I’m pretty sure the engine has seized up. I have a feeling that this car is on its way to an early burial. I walk to the trunk and open it to retrieve my suitcase. I don’t have much, just the essentials. I left my life behind, and that meant everything I owned stayed there as well. What I do have was purchased at a second-hand store. What I couldn’t find there, I purchased at Walmart. I swing my bag from the trunk and walk to his truck. He sees me struggling to get my bag into the back of the truck and comes over to help me.

  “Here, let me get that. You have to be spent. How long have you been out here?” This is the second time that he’s asked me that question. I suppose I owe him an answer. I look at my watch to see the time.

  “I’ve been stranded for nearly three hours. No one would stop.” I almost begin to cry again. I catch the sob that is forming in my throat and swallow it down. I’m not sure if I’m swallowing my pride or my sorrow, but either way I could sure use a chaser right now. He puts his hand behind my back and ushers me toward the cab. I feel the air rush out as he opens the door. The frigid air is heavenly. I clamber into the cab and push my face toward the vent. I sit there until he enters the driver’s side.

  “Thanks for stopping.”

  “No problem. Let’s get you into town. Don’t you have a phone?”

  Feeling better, I lean back into the seat and relax. I turn to my left to get a better look at my rescuer. He’s a large man, tall and muscular, with biceps that stretch the cotton of his T-shirt to its limit. His hair is sandy-blond, and his eyes are almost slate blue, maybe gunmetal-grey. If he didn’t have such a gruff look on his face, I would say that he has a kind face. His look is a stark contrast to his demeanor. He seemed pleasant as he was kneeling next to me, but now his questions are coming at me as more of an accusation than an actual inquiry.

  “I asked why you didn’t call someone? There is cell service in the area,” he says gruffly.

  I stare at him and notice his frown. I’m wondering if stopping for me has put a glitch in his day.

  “No, I don’t have a cell phone. My service was canceled, and I didn’t want to set up a new service until I got to where I’m going.” Saying that out loud makes me realize how poorly I planned this trip. There was no planning at all. I grabbed my stuff and ran.

  “Where are you going?” He glances toward me and then back at the road.

  “I’m not sure at this point, I’m just going. I’ll know when I get there.” It’s the most honest answer I can give. I walked out of the courthouse this morning and over to the used-car lot. I handed over nine, crisp, one hundred dollar bills, and an hour later I drove off the lot and onto Interstate 5. I wound my way around and turned when I felt like turning. I decided to head north, and that’s how I ended up on this patch of highway.

  “Are you running from something? Who jumps in the car in the middle of summer with no destination in mind and no phone? Are you out of your mind?” The rough timber of his voice makes me feel like a small child being scolded by an angry parent.

  I stare at him with my mouth agape. This man doesn’t know me. How dare he make assumptions about me. I don’t answer him. I look forward and gaze into the distance.

  “How far until the next town? What is it called?” I see nothing in the distance and feel grateful that I’m sitting in his cold, comfortable truck.

  “We have about ten miles to go. It would have been a very long walk for you – seventy miles back or twenty miles forward. The town is called Sugar Glen, but don’t let the name fool you, it’s anything but sweet.”

  Silence fills the truck’s cab for the rest of the trip. I sneak a glance at my rescuer and realize we haven’t even exchanged names. I suppose if he were interested in knowing mine, he would have asked.

  I relax for the next few minutes and make up names for him in my mind. If he were a god, I would call him Thor. If he were a superhero, I would say Captain America with his boyish face and manly body. In reality, I bet his name is something simple like Jack, or Tom.

  Up in the distance I see another mirage, or maybe it’s the town. I’m not sure at this point. We arrive at the edge of town and true to his word, the first thing we reach is a shabby motel with a bar across the street. The sign above the bar says Last Resort. The mo
tel is called Shady Lane. I would say that is an accurate description for a place on the outskirts of town.

  He pulls his truck into the dirt parking lot of the motel and exits. I dread opening the door, knowing that I’m going to get smacked in the face with sweltering heat as soon as I leave the truck. I brace myself and push forward, my body slides from the cab, and my feet hit the dusty dirt lane with a thud. He pulls my bag from the truck bed and sets it on the ground in front of me.

  “I’ll send Todd over to get your car, he is the most reasonably priced in town when it comes to towing services. Do you have enough money to get a room for the night?” His behavior is confusing. He totters between hostile and civil. One moment he’s gruff and the next he’s nurturing.

  “Of course, I have enough money, how much can it be? It’s not the Hilton for God’s sake.” My nerves are on edge from the heat. I reach down and pick up my bag. “I’m sorry, I should have thanked you. Instead, I was rude. Thank you for picking me up.”

  “Okay, well, gook luck.” He turns on his heel and walks around his truck. He climbs in and puts the vehicle in gear. Spinning tires stir up a cloud of dust as he drives away. I was certain he would drive directly across the street to his bar, but he didn’t, he headed deeper into town.”

  I watch as he drives away and realize that I still don’t know his name. Picking up my bag, I march myself into the lobby and ask for a room. The woman at the counter is friendly and cheerful. She seems like she could be someone’s grandmother. I have this thing with guessing names. I imagine her name to be something like May or Mavis. She tells me about the facilities, which are limited to a vending machine, the refrigerator filled with strawberry Quik and cheap beer, and the coin-operated washers and dryers. I tell her thanks, but before I leave I ask her name.