* * *
Atlantic Bridge/Liquid Silver Books
http://www.liquidsilverbooks.com
Copyright ©2003 Dakota Cassidy
First Published by Liquid Silver Books, October, 2003
* * *
NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
* * *
Published by Liquid Silver Books, Imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 6280 Crittenden Ave, Indianapolis, Indiana. Copyright 2003, Dakota Cassidy. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the authors.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
Prologue
“I won't!” Pricilla Watson mumbled with furious indignation. Her slipper-clad feet sent up wispy, white plumes of smoke in her wake as she paced. What, in the name of all eternity, could He be thinking?
She wouldn't do it, not if they tarred and feathered her!
Or even if they slapped her buck-naked, cellulite-riddled backside onto one of those bloody silver and gold carriages, and screamed through the pathways of the Heavens with her tied behind it!!
Oh, Hell's bells, she thought sulkily. Cellulite was no longer a part of her world, and even that welcome reality didn't bring the usual rush of relief. She really was in trouble now. She studied her perfectly polished nails, and gnawed on her bottom lip.Think, Pricilla...
What else did she have to do to prove her worthiness?
Hadn't she saved poor, snot-nosed, smart-mouthed Tyrell Washington from certain death as he wandered aimlessly, lost in the mountains of Colorado? If there had ever been a kid who needed a good dose of soap in his mouth, he took first prize! Who took their kid off to some big, scary mountain and dubbed it a field trip, anyway? Pricilla shuddered with distaste as she remembered the dark, musty hell that mission had been! However, the call of duty had commanded her presence, and she had gone, with little or no fight. Well ... with maybe a smidge of fight, but, she was proud to declare, no kicking and screaming. This time.
And wasn't it only little more than a month ago, when she had single-handedly rescued that pitiful mouse of a woman Clementine from marrying that big yawn, Walter? Yeesh, had he been boring. A little mascara, something other than a wardrobe faux pas worthy of the fashion police, and all is well in the world of Clementine. Just ask that Hunk-o-rama, Dean, whom Clementine had managed—with a little help from yours truly—to snare. Hotties like that didn't just stroll into your life when you had a face that could stop a clock; they needed ‘encouragement,’ or whatever they called it up here. More like a resounding slap in the head, but no feat was too large for this angel in the offing. Pretty little house, babies would soon be crawling all over the place, and they'd have the proverbial white picket fence. Everybody's happy now, right?
Good gravy, what was left? If she didn't move to the next level pronto, she would be left behind for yet another year. Hadn't parting the Red Sea already happened?
Pricilla sighed. She had been stuck at this forsaken halfway point for five long, torturous years and she wouldn't stay put for another minute! Pricilla stomped her foot in frustration.
“Would you quit the whining?” Verbena, her Mentor Angel, entered with all the grace of an elephant and plopped her abundant, holier-than-thou, divine butt on the nearest cloud.
Was nothing sacred here? Even Pricilla's thoughts weren't her own anymore, since Mentor Angels could read the minds of their protégés. Pretty darn convenient, if you asked Pricilla.
“I didn't ask you,” Verbena said with a crooked smile.
Pricilla snorted and raised her eyebrows to the Heavens, as if to say, “Do ya see what I mean?”
“When do you suppose it might be a good time for you to get off that scrawny behind of yours and get to the business at hand? We don't have much time you know; make hay while the sun shines and all.”
Pricilla smoothed long tapered fingers down her flowing, white gown and planned her attack. What she wouldn't give for a mini skirt and some heels. She drew the line at a halo and wings; it wassoooo ‘Touched by an Angel.’ She blew a loud rush of air and considered her options. Should she be weepy? She pinched the bridge of her nose in thought. No ... hmmm. How about stoically suffering? Or maybe, a little of both?
She knelt before Verbena with wide, pleading eyes and gave her best ‘helpless female’ look, summoning every last feminine wile she possessed.
She began quite simply—she begged.
“Please, please Verbena, I can't. Not even if I get the chance to seeher . How can that slimeball be my mission? How can He ask this of me? It's like asking me to give up lipstick, or worse, miss my root touch ups!” Pricilla cried.
“Why can't you assign this to that knucklehead in training, Melvin? Wouldn't the ‘man,'” she snickered out loud at the use of that particular reference tohim , “in this picture be better served by a male Angel anyway?
“You must be out of your ever-lovin’ mind if you think I can pull this off! I despise the very air he breathes, and I won't be a party to this. I won't!” Pricilla flopped forward on Verbena's billowy lap with a dramatic thump, taking in big gulps of air, laying emphasis on her long suffering.
Ever the drama queen, Verbena mused. Pricilla was from Texas, born and raised, where everything is big, including mouths, breasts and apparently hair. Swirls of Pricilla's thick coffee-colored tresses spilled around Verbena's hands. She really was just pathetic!
With a sigh Verbena gently stroked the pretty head of her most needy Angel. Pricilla was, if nothing else, the actress of the millennium. Verbena knew this for a fact; she had been stationed at this halfway point for what felt like at least that long. Many an Angel (and actress in fact), had been successfully tutored by Verbena and moved on to the next level with a hell of a lot fewer missions under their belts. Pricilla, on the other hand, had invented the phrase ‘overstaying your welcome.’ There was just no getting through to this beautiful, brainless piece of fluff! Her missions must be completed with selflessness, something Pricilla sorely lacked. If there was an end, she would find it to justifyher means. The key to completing any successful mission was embarking on it, or at the very leastfinishing it with selflessness.
Pricilla's heart was capable of enormous love, most of which she showered upon hers truly. That was why Verbena supposed, He wouldn't give up, and that meant she couldn't either. Well He did after all, know best. So she sent Pricilla on mission after mission, each time crossing her fingers that it would be the last. Sometimes even Verbena laughed out loud at Pricilla's bumbling efforts. If only she would go with the flow and let herself complete one small mission without being selfish. It was essential that she complete the mission with nothing more than the intended subject's best interests at heart. Pricilla did it because she thought Upper-Level status meant hair dye and a wax. Oh, and cute guy angels.
Tough love was what they called it in the eighties, yes? A stiff dose of that was in order now.
Verbena lifted the beautiful Pricilla's head and cupped her face in her well-weathered hands; Pricilla's green, thickly-lashed eyes sought Verbena's inquiringly. She had even managed to squeeze out a single tear, the salt
y bubble trickling slowly down her creamy flushed cheek. Verbena chuckled, her lined face crinkled into a slow smile of appeasement.
“We do not always know why He asks what we may think is impossible. It is not ours to question. We must do His bidding.You must doHis bidding. I have coddled and pampered you far more than any other Angel who has come before you, and I dare say, any who will come long after. The time for you to earn your right as an Upper-Level Angel has come Pricilla. Youwill complete this mission...”
Chapter 1
Earth: Present Day
Nope, the clanging in his brain wasn't going to go away, even if he kept his eyes squeezed tightly shut.
He was certain his tongue was going to be stuck to the roof of his mouth for all damnation. That was okay, too.
He didn't need a tongue; it never brought him much of anything but trouble anyway. The familiar churning in his stomach signaled the need to move rapidly to the nearest porcelain fixture, but his legs didn't seem to think that was such a good idea. He groaned loudly, and ran his hands over his pounding temples. Grabbing at a lumpy pillow and burying his face in it, he prayed silently for death.
“Not gonna happen, slimeball. There'll be no dyin'. Not on my watch.”
His eyes flew open, and just as quickly clamped shut. A shudder worked its way down his spine. No ... uh-uh. No freaking way did he just see what his hung-over, more-than-a-little fucked up brain thought he saw!
This was an ugly nightmare. A result of too much tequila and too little common sense. What the hell had he been thinking when he knocked those bad boys back?
And that smell! Was that gardenias? The sickeningly sweet scent latched on to his already inflamed nostrils. His gut heaved in rebellion. Tequila must promote delusions, he told himself firmly, and clenched his eyes shut even tighter. He would just keep his eyes closed andIT would go away.
“When pigs fly, Cowboy,” the apparition said.IT clearly didn't get how this worked.
He knew that lazy, southern drawl. It screeched through his head like a runaway freight train, but she couldn't exist if he didn't let her. He ground his teeth together. He had to piss so bad his eyeballs were floating in the back of his head, but he wasn't moving, not one damn inch, tillIT went away. He sank further into the bed. A sharp, pointy talon poked at his shoulder.
“C'mon, it's time to rise and shine. I'm not goin’ away until you open those big baby blues.”
Oh God thiswas Hell and somehow he had ended up in it with, of all the people who deserved to burn in its fiery depths,her!
“This ain't nothing compared to Hell my friend. I've seen it with my own two eyes,”IT assured him with a squawk. He pried one bloodshot eye half open, and saw a vaguely familiar outline through the haze of his vision.
“Don't make me hurt you,”IT threatened, waving a shiny scarlet nail at his one opened eye.
He was a stark raving loon, he didn't need anymore convincing. Nice men with white coats and butterfly nets enter, please.
ITcleared her throat, as if to clarify her solidity on his planet.
“Oh you're many things, Cowboy,” she assured him, “but crazy you ain't, so let's stop the meanderin’ and get up!”
When Brady Campbell finally pried both grainy eyes open, they fell upon his worst nightmare. There she was, plain as the day was long. Red tipped nails, long flowing white gown, and a mouth the size of the fine state of Montana. Floating right there in front of his nose. Floating?
“Yup, floating, Cowboy. It's really kinda nice once you get the hang of it!” she cackled.
He took another look at the long, flowing gown. They must not make mini skirts where she's been, he surmised. Regardless, there she was, in all her glory. His long-gone, good-riddance-to-you, dead (yup, not just dead, but five years dead), mother-in-law! *
Pricilla yawned and warily eyed the hung-over lump that was her son-in-law, Brady. She hovered just beyond his reach, certain that should the opportunity arise, he would raise those muscular arms and smack her down like nothing more than a horse fly!
She surveyed the lay of the land with disgust. From the looks of this joint, maybe he was already in hell. The room, in her opinion, was in dire need of a bulldozer, at the very least! Not even Martha Stewart herself could save this dive.
All right, so in the beginning of a mission one always encountered a bit of skepticism. No matter how open-minded your subject thinks he or she is, they can't quite digest the reality of seeing you float, all opaque and dramatic like. Pricilla always thought it was because she was so stunning in white; Verbena assured her it was rather that she wasdead . They never let you forget that, did they?
If this mission was her only pass to Upper-Level status, then she was, without a doubt, destined for hell in a hand-basket. Still, a girl had to do what a girl had to do. Upper-Level status meant no more missions, and if the rumors were true, she wanted in on that gig. Pricilla searched Brady's mind for his thoughts on her sudden arrival. As a Mission Angel she could read only the thoughts he had about her directly. Which were none too pretty, thank you very much.
Of course, shock and disbelief were to be expected, but all those dirty words were really unnecessary. She hoped the Big Kahuna was taking notes about the abuse she suffered. Before Brady could conjure up one more mean-spirited thought, she dove right in.
“It's like this, Cowboy. I'm here to save your sorry butt. You've piddled away an entire year, drinking and behaving like the loser you are, so for the last time, get up out of this bed, and bust a move!” She shouted with as much authority as she could muster.
Brady slung his legs off the edge of the moth-eaten mattress and rested his forearms on his thighs, head hung low. Tousled blond hair fell to his forehead, giving him that boyish quality her baby girl had once thought was oh-so adorable. And now he was growling, a fact that made Pricilla shiver. He was hotter than a cat on a hot tin roof. Oh, for a cattle prod right about now.
“I don't know who the hell you are, or how you managed to pull off this whole floating thing, but the joke's over.” Cold blue eyes lifted to meet hers. In a tone just audible enough for her to hear, he spat through clenched teeth, “Get the hell out! I don't need any saving, least of all from you.”
Not to be dissuaded, Pricilla cast her eyes upward to the water-marked ceiling. “He seems to think ya do, partner, and I'm the one He elected to do it. Trust me, Bud, the thought makes me want to blow my cookies.”
Brady stood abruptly then; his powerfully lean body wobbled and then righted itself. Pricilla floated to the far corner of the dark, dingy room, and flattened her spine against a wall of peeling gray paint. She had almost forgotten just how intimidating he could be, but she would not be thwarted. She put both hands up, palms facing forward in a gesture of compliance.
“Look Brady, we didn't like each other in life and my death hasn't made me like you any better, especially after this past year.” She put emphasis on the last year thing, so he knew,she knew all about what had been going on.
“Not everyone gets an angel ya know. Consider yourself lucky. This is your one in a million shot, to right all your wrongs with some divine intervention from yours truly. I wouldn't give a rat's patootie if you fell off the edge of the earth tomorrow, but the Big Guy does. He wants you dried out, and back to the business of living. I just want to do what I have to do to get...” She trailed off. The less he knew, the better.
Even hung over, he was all over that statement like white on rice. “To get what, Pricilla?” he asked, sarcasm riddling his tone. “You never did anything in life to help anyone but yourself, so why would death turn you into Mother Theresa?” he ground out.
Pricilla sighed. Time for the big guns, this was going to be all out war. One should never reveal the true meaning of a mission, unless one's hand was forced. That was like Mission Angel rule number twelve or something. Yadda yadda yadda. She should have paid better attention to Verbena.
For the love of Mary! He was slow as molasses running uphill in winter,
so she would have to spell it out for him. Pricilla drifted to the floor, and placed one hand on her shapely hip. Standing on tippytoes, she wagged her finger under his nose. “Pay attention Cheeseball, I'm here for one reason and one reason only. To help you get your wife back! So rise and shine, baby cakes. Shower, shave, shit, do whatever ya have to do to look presentable. We're goin’ in my friend, and we're taking prisoners. Hurry up for gravy's sake! We need to get to her office!”
He shook his head in utter disbelief and turned on his heel, stomping off to what she supposed was the bathroom, having the audacity to slam the warped, creaky door in her face.
Chapter 2
His flaxen hair was just visible between the tops of her thighs, his head bobbing up and down slowly. She arched her back, pressing her hips toward his tongue, encouraging him to lick her more deeply. Somewhere far off she heard him groan, and felt the position of his tongue shift to swipe at her clit. She clutched at his head, and ran her finger through the wet folds of her cunt, exposing the soft flesh, spreading her legs wider. He accommodated her with soft swirls of his velvet tongue and feather light kisses, entering her first with one thick finger, then two. She heard a sigh, uneven and broken, push from her lips, and shuddered as he plunged into her wet channel while he suckled her clit. Her legs wrapped tightly around his shoulders as she came. She tugged at her tightened nipples as he buried his face in her, riding her climax.
He moved up her body, stabbing at her with his long, thick cock, dragging it slowly over her clit. She ran trembling hands over his hard abdomen, delighting in the ripples of muscle. His nipples puckered in response. His skin was hot under her fingertips and she squirmed beneath him, wanting, needing to touch him. Reaching for his hardened length, she circled it with her hand, gliding along the thick, silken flesh. He pressed his mouth to hers, suckling her lower lip. She tasted herself on his tongue. Pulling away, he whispered a husky demand. “Put me in your mouth."
Sex With Your Ex Page 1