Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015

by Melinda Curtis

  “Yeah.” She closed her eyes. “We sailed the crystal ship on a lot of fine voyages.” A mocking note entered her Jersey-accented voice. “We had our best inspirations while we were tweakin’. We could stay up all night calling you on your phone, charging stuff to your credit cards, breaking into your house and your shop... Thank you, Cara.”

  I gritted my teeth and ground my heel into the carpet rather than stomp on her head. “How did you get to Maggie? I checked her out thoroughly before she was hired. She was clean as a whistle.”

  “Maggie was a pushover, totally tied-ass and love-starved. Do you think he really wanted her? Hah. That’s a laugh. He used to joke about her all the time, how he hated to touch her scrawny old body, but he’d hang around her to get to you. That was how he knew everything you did. She told him everything we needed to know, usually in bed after he’d gotten her high. He could get anyone he wanted. Except you, you bitch.”

  “He resented that as well?”

  “He was obsessed with you. The great Cara Fletcher. He used to make jokes about the late, great Cara Fletcher.”

  I collapsed onto the couch. My heart felt as though it was squeezed by a giant, merciless hand. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

  “And we got close, until you came along.” She scowled at Fletcher. “We knew it was over when you got her to Trump Tower.”

  “But you caused that when you burned Cara out of her house. Why’d you do that?” he asked.

  “Maggie thought that when you two went to Italy that you’d see the original records and figure out what she’d done. She wanted to leave, but we thought we could cover up the entire scheme by killing Cara. It was her debt and with her dead, everything would be a mess. It could be months or even years before any problems would be discovered. We’d get away scot-free.”

  “The Siamese twins of modeling,” he said thoughtfully. “The two of you cooked up a plot to embezzle funds from Cara Fletcher Clothes, enticed Maggie into it, then decided to burn Cara alive. I bet that they both killed Maggie,” he said to me. “Torture and murder. Is there a death penalty in New York, Andrea? You’d better hope not.”

  “It’ll be worth it. We really got to you, you bitch. I wish I’d seen your face after we took apart your workshop. Maggie said it was classic.”

  The world whirled and rocked as though the sofa beneath me had turned to tidal waves. I slumped. “She knew. She deserves an award for the acting job she did.”

  “Of course she knew. She had to destroy the records to cover up the thefts,” he said. “So she had to vandalize the entire workshop. If she’d just destroyed the records it would have drawn too much attention to them.”

  I said, “You caused this blackout, too, I bet, by crashing your car into a transformer. Am I right?”

  “Bite me.”

  Fletcher grinned a death’s head smile. “No, thank you. But I’m sure someone big and bad in prison will take care of all your needs for you.”

  Epilogue

  I stood beside Fletcher on the curb outside The Fletcher Group’s headquarters in the chill dawn, watching the local police take Andrea Covarrubia to jail.

  One of the detectives who had responded to Fletcher’s 9-1-1 call bustled over to tell us that an extradition order for Adam Covarrubia would be obtained later in the day, and that Interpol would arrange for Adam to be taken into custody in Milan, Italy.

  “So, it’s all over,” I said to Fletch.

  His arm tightened around me, and I looked up at him. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since we’d left Manhattan for Wilmington. The craggy lines of his face, dark with stubble, seemed softened by fatigue.

  The night, long and stressful, had changed both of us. I hadn’t been certain, but now I knew. The horrible moment when Andrea shot Fletcher had been the worst in my life, surpassing even the terror of Natalie’s attempted suicide. If he’d died, life would have turned gray and empty, and I would have gone mad from guilt.

  “It’s not over,” he said. “There’s one more thing to be done.” He took my hands in his. “Cara, when I saw you with that gun pointed at your head...” He closed his eyes, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed convulsively. “I knew then that if I let you go without a fight that my life would be worth nothing to me. But we did it together! We couldn’t have done it separately, but together, we won. Will you please marry me? I can’t live without you. I don’t even want to try.”

  I slid my arms around him underneath his jacket, glorying in the warmth of his love, and rubbed my face against his chest. “Yes, I’ll marry you. Not because of how much you need me, but because of how much I love you.” I stopped as a thought—a nasty thought—intruded. “But…but what about your prenup?”

  His brow creased. “What?”

  “Don’t you have a prenuptial contract? I heard it was thirty pages long!”

  He laughed. “Honey, you shouldn’t listen to gossip. Where did you hear that story?”

  I actually blushed as I told him what I’d overheard in the women’s lounge at Morton’s.

  “Oh, baby.” He laughed so hard that tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. He rubbed them away with the backs of his hands. “I guess I deserved to have that come back to haunt me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I used to date some, umm, questionable women.”

  I lifted a brow.

  He put an arm around me. “Long before I met you, honey. Sometimes I suspected that the women I dated were more interested in money than my more, er, personal qualities. I’d tell these gals that I had this long prenup, and they’d disappear. I didn’t realize that you’d heard about it.”

  “So it doesn’t exist?”

  “No. I want a marriage built on love and loyalty. I trust you completely.” He smiled. The shadows in his eyes lifted, like sun breaking through dark clouds. “I love you, my darling. And I always will.”

  A Note From the Author

  Thank you for reading Fashion Victim, one of my earliest manuscripts. I really enjoyed researching the couture industry and creating designs, and feel that the in-depth approach I took made it a better book.

  Email me at suzdemello@gmail.com to let me know if it’s stood the test of time. You can also connect with me on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/SuzDeMello) and follow me on Twitter (@suzdemello). If you like, please leave a review on Amazon.

  My author page is https://www.amazon.com/author/suzdemello, and my website is at http://www.suzdemello.com. There you’ll find an author bio, a video interview and many free reads, excerpts of my best-selling, award winning stories.

  Most authors write the same book over and over. I don’t. It’s booooring. I’ve written everything from the sexiest erotica to sweet romances for Silhouette Books (remember them?) in which the bedroom door remained tightly shut. My stories range from Regency romance to wildly speculative futuristics; dark BDSM memoirs and light comedy spoofs. I’ve written two writing manuals, one of which was an Amazon bestseller. I’ve written about shapeshifting dragons, Scottish vampires, and Sacramento housewives.

  But romance has remained first and foremost, as I hope it does in your life.

  Happy reading!

  Season, Unforgettable

  Keta Diablo

  Copyright © 2010 by:

  Keta Diablo

  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.

  Praise and Awards

  Kindle Top 100 Bestselling Author

  Award Nominee: MOLLY, Red Carpet, Bookie, Rone

  Top Pick, Book of the Month, Recommended Read

  Chapter 1

  The winter will ask what we did all summer.

  A triangle of light slanted through the branches of the pines and hardwoods. Following a narrow path in the dense belly of the woods, she set
a slow pace, her hands clasping the camera hanging around her neck. One never knew when a scampering critter or even one of the native birds might provide the perfect photograph for her portfolio.

  She'd die; well not truly die, but almost, to snap a Ruby-throated hummingbird in the middle of aerial dives. Although they nested in wooded areas on the margins of the forest, she'd be more likely to find one in Duna's massive wildflower garden or even his crabapple orchard. She reminded herself small birds weren't on her priority list today but birds of prey were, specifically the bald eagle.

  For years, she'd watched the white-headed predator soar above the tree line. 'He's headed for the tall swamp grass along the banks of the lake,' her grandfather would say. 'Off to make a nest of sticks at the top of a tree with his mate.' Her knowledge of the land surrounding their cottage could fit into a thimble compared to Duna's. He wasn't learned, not in a bookish way. In fact, she doubted he went beyond the eighth grade in school. Didn't matter; he was still the smartest man she knew. Her grandfather's understanding of God's universe had been passed down for generations from his Romani ancestors—nomads, whose very survival depended on constant awareness of the terrain and the creatures inhabiting it. This included man.

  In the stillness of the forest, she often thought about her parents. For five years after the plane crash, she cursed God for ripping two vibrant loved ones from her young life. But sometime in the last five, Duna had convinced her to count her blessings, be thankful for every breath, every day. Romani people believed one should live their life as if today was their last. 'Tomorrow is not promised to any of us, gehl,' Duna often said and followed it up with, 'There is only this moment.' And so she had tried to live every day as if it was her last. Somewhere between age fifteen and twenty, she'd come to terms with their untimely deaths, and her suffocating anger.

  First, the birds went silent and then the bushes rustled to her right. A guttural growl sent raw fear pedaling through her veins. Had she flushed out a bear, worse, a mama bear protecting her cub? Her hands went to the straps around her neck, a foolish instinct that overrode the alarm bells roaring in her head. She slipped the camera over her shoulder, her hands shaking like leaves caught up in an eddy. When the scrub brush parted, a mountain lion strolled onto the trail. The alarm bells morphed into paralyzing fear. Holy crap, what is a mountain lion doing in this neck of the woods?

  Gold-flecked eyes met green. With their gazes locked, both assessing the beast before them, an infinity of time passed. Should she retreat or remain as still as the oak trunks surrounding her? The cat made the first move. He sniffed the air as if trying to identify her scent, his front paws digging into the forest floor beneath him. She'd never outrun him and climbing a tree would be suicide. Cats could skim tree bark faster than a scalded ghost could disappear. She retreated, and forgot about the sturdy branch she hopped over moments ago. Her heel slipped on the wet birch bark, knocking her legs out from under her. Hitting the ground with a solid thud, she clutched her abdomen and gasped for precious air.

  Her mother's face rose behind her closed eyes. Oh, shit, have you come to welcome me? This can't be happening…Dear God, don't let it be happening.

  A hoarse whisper over her shoulder broke through her heartfelt pleadings. “Don't move. Not. One. Muscle.”

  The stranger jumped over her head, the taut muscles of his naked back and broad shoulders blocking her line of vision to the phantom of death. He held a long, sturdy bough in his hand, clasping it in the middle with both hands. Between his stance and his confidence, she almost believed he could do some serious damage should the beast decide to lunge. Oh, how she wanted to believe it.

  Another element leaped into the scene in a blur of unbridled speed and motion. She released a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding when the cat's long tail disappeared into a thicket of dense bracken with the monstrous canine in hot pursuit.

  Her savior turned to face her. “Are you all right?”

  Patting down her legs and torso, the words stuck in her throat. “I-I think so.” When her hands moved to her neck, she remembered her camera and scanned the ground around her. “My cam—”

  “Shattered, I'm afraid.” He nodded to the left. “Looks like it hit that thick branch when you fell.”

  “Crap. I saved for a year to buy it.”

  He extended a hand. “Here, let's see if any part of you is shattered.”

  With a moan and a grunt she pulled herself up. And then drank in his beauty, like Hollywood leading actor beauty. A head taller than her, his dark hair glistened beneath a shaft of sunlight. His eyes were blue, dark midnight blue, the same shade as the cotton shirt tied around his waist. His mouth was generous, his lips full and sensual. Below that kissable mouth, a scruffy stubble shadowed his chiseled jaw.

  After scanning her top to bottom, he cocked his head to the side. “Well, what do you think?”

  Oh, God, how long had she been gawking at him? He'd asked her a question after easing her to her feet. Something about broken. No shattered, he wanted to know if anything besides the camera was shattered when she fell. “Nothing broken. I'm fine, thank you.”

  His smile dazzled her. “You're welcome.”

  A dog barked in the distance. “Is that your dog?”

  “Yes, Rook. Good thing I brought him along today.”

  “Do you think he's all right?”

  “Oh, yeah, he's fine. He's got that mountain lion treed, won't come back until I whistle for him.”

  Still rattled, she put a hand to her forehead and took in her surroundings. “But…how-how did you find—”

  “Rook must have picked up the cat's scent. He took off on a dead run and when he didn't return, I decided to check it out.” This time his smile creased the corners of his eyes. “I'm glad I, that is, we, found you.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “So it goes without saying you were out here taking pictures. You a photographer?”

  “One day, I hope. Right now, a student at the local college.” She looked over his shoulder in the direction of the persistent barking. “Must have crossed over from the Badlands.”

  A quizzical expression crossed his face.

  “The mountain lion. I've never seen one in the woods before, but the DNR said they'd tracked one in Minnesota last year…a young male passing through on his way to Canada.”

  “You live nearby then?”

  “Yes.” She shagged her head backwards. “Duna, my grandfather, and I, live about a mile in that direction.” Her breathing had finally returned to normal, enough to emit a chuckle. “You're standing on Scrimshaw land, sir.”

  “Rann Brogan, please call me Rann. I think we should be on a first name basis after that, don't you?”

  “Yes, yes, I do.” She shivered and then plucked her broken camera from the ground. “I think it's fair to say I might not be standing on Scrimshaw land if you and Rook hadn't come along.” She turned to leave, calling out over her shoulder. “Thank you, Rann Brogan.”

  “Hey, wait!”

  Pivoting around, she faced him again.

  “You didn't tell me your name.”

  “Season.”

  “Season? You're named after a season? Okay, let me guess.” With his thumb and forefinger rubbing the stubble on his chin, he squinted. “Let me see; not Autumn. You don't look like an Autumn. I'm going to guess Wynter, and that's with a y instead of an i.”

  “Wrong on both counts.”

  “You're not going to tell me, are you?”

  “Already did. My name is Season Scrimshaw.”

  Clutching the busted-beyond-repair camera in her hand, she turned from him and broke into a jog. She wanted confirmation her bones weren't broken and…she had to get away from that sinfully gorgeous man. What was he doing in their woods and half-naked no less? She didn't get her pictures and she almost got killed by a mountain lion. Until a man came out of nowhere and saved her life. There had to be a reason for her mucked up day. Or an omen. Yes, she was right to want
to get away from him. Duna always said, 'Be careful, child. Sometimes you get the bear and sometimes the bear gets you.'

  Halfway home, the sunlit expanse of the open meadow loomed. She came to an abrupt halt, her eyes narrowed and focused like lasers. What in hell? A tripod, land markers and surveying rods? Rage surged up her chest. Her guardian angel didn't just happen to be trekking through the woods with his dog. He was surveying their land. Why? Who did he work for, and why hadn't he told her?

  For a brief moment, she thought about tipping over his tripod and tossing his markers into the woods. Waging a battle between right and wrong, anger and gratitude, she kicked the dirt and picked up her pace again. Her Greek god of the forest would soon find out the land wasn't for sale, not for any price this side of heaven.

  Chapter 2

  He who willingly gives you one finger will also give you the whole hand.

  Rann honed in on Season's back until she disappeared amid the trees. Despite the heat of summer, a cool breeze washed over him. He untied the shirt from his waist, slipped his arms through the sleeves, and followed Rook's shrill yelps. The mountain lion had found safety on the thick branch of an oak. Fifteen feet from the ground, his cream and gold coat camouflaged by leafy foliage, he looked down on him and the black lab with nonchalant interest.

  He pulled his cell phone from the pocket of his jeans. “Nada, no service here.” But that didn't stop him from snatching several shots of the cat for the DNR. Once he reached the open meadow he'd contact them. “Come boy, we're done here.”

  On the short walk back to his equipment, he relived the incident in the forest. It wasn't unusual for him to meet up with creatures while surveying in densely treed areas, but he never anticipated crossing paths with a stunning creature like Season.