Box of 1Night Stands: 21 Sizzling Nights

by Anthology

  “Help me, Spook.”

  “Your wish, my command,” he grunted. Still joined together in an inferno of carnal sensation, he flipped her over effortlessly and drove into her until they both were beyond words, panting and groaning together in furious primal frenzy. Delirious pleasure engulfed her. And joy. And ecstasy, profound, powerful…and sublime.

  “Goddess,” she sighed later. Much later.

  “You’re my only goddess,” he said, his voice gruff and raw. “Everything I need. Right. Here.” A lot of emotion for so cool a customer. But then Spook had come in from the cold. And he’d brought her with him.

  “Not everything…I was kind of thinking…maybe a bigger bed.”

  ~ABOUT THE AUTHOR~

  Taryn Kincaid lives and works not far from the real SLEEPY HOLLOW, where there’s something in the air, and water. (Currently, what’s in the water are very large barges and pieces of machinery, pounding out a new bridge across the Hudson River.) She loves hearing from you! Friend her on Facebook, follow her on Twitter, and check her out on Pinterest and her website and blog: http://tarynkincaid.com

  Trading Up

  A 1Night Stand Story

  By

  Mahalia Levey

  Also by Mahalia Levey

  Price of Defiance

  Satin and Steel

  Burn Me if You Can

  Tell Me No Lies

  ~DEDICATION~

  To my readers, thank you, without your support writing wouldn’t be half as much fun.

  To my editing staff, thank you for continuing to push me to grow in my writing.

  Chapter One

  Cimmerian Nights in delicate script illuminated the side of the obsidian granite building. Camilla released a pent up breath in a vain attempt to settle her nerves. Who knew what hid behind the doors of the sleek, looming architecture? On impulse she turned to face the sea of patrons in the courtyard. Was her date already there?

  “Ms. Knox?”

  Her gaze gravitated toward the source of the baritone voice addressing her.

  “Yes.” She’d never been on a blind date before. She forced herself to listen.

  “Welcome to Cimmerian Nights. My name is Cesaire, and I will be your guide for the night.”

  “Thank you.” Grasping her clutch in her clammy hands, she ended her futile search and stepped into the dim foyer “Where to now?”

  “Follow me, please.” He moved seamlessly in front of her, stopping at an empty seating area. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, making conversation the last thing on her mind, though manners dictated she should speak.

  “Many people have a difficulty adjusting to new experiences.” Cesaire held out her chair and waved to a pair of bottles and glasses on the low table. “I have both white and red wine. Do you have a preference?”

  “Thanks. I’d love a glass of white.”

  He uncorked the bottle and poured her goblet half full.

  Cesaire sat opposite her and removed an electronic pad and stylus from an inside jacket pocket. “Please relax and let us discuss any food allergies or dislikes you have.”

  Cam sipped the chilled wine. Peaches and pineapple teased her palate. The crisp liquid soothed her anxiety. After a second sip, she leaned back. “I dislike raw meat, liver in any shape or form, and mushy vegetables.” A soft sound teased her ears. Looking for the source, she noted she’d been brushing her fingertip over the rim of the glass, producing a low note. “Sorry.” She bit her lip and stilled her hand.

  “Accepted. You are a texture eater then. Do you have any dietary restrictions such as low sodium or only artificial sweeteners?”

  “No.” Camilla shook her head. “I’m relatively healthy.” She could stand to shed about thirty pounds or so, at least in her parents’ eyes. While she embraced her curves, they wanted her skinnier.

  “Good.” Cesaire’s polished look put her at ease. His vibrant blue eyes were as kind as his unique tone and pattern of speech. He addressed her as if he had all the time in the world. She toned down her fidgetiness to keep looking for him.

  “Is my date here yet?” Damn, impatient as always, wanting dessert before the main course.

  “No, ma’am. Once I get you situated, another host will bring Mr. Dawson to your reserved table.”

  “Thanks, I’m…I don’t do well with surprises and really want to get the preliminaries over with.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “One last question we’re required to ask before we proceed any further.”

  She waited with bated breath. What would he want to know next? Breast size? Position preference? Oral skills?

  “Are you afraid of the dark? Please be honest so we may make adjustments for your mental well-being and physical safety.”

  “No, I don’t fear being in the dark.” A surge of uncertainty slammed into her. “I’m sorry but what does that have to do with my date? I feel as if I’m missing something important. I thought I signed up for a romantic dinner with another guest.”

  “Did you read Madame Eve’s email?”

  “Yes. I saved my appetite for tonight. She requested I eat lightly today.”

  “Did you receive the pamphlet? Cimmerian Nights is an obsidian dining experience.”

  Cam’s jaw dropped. She’d had a glimpse of this type of eatery on a morning television show, but she’d missed the detail while reading over the email.

  “How can we have our date without seeing one another?” Do the fates dislike me? She wanted to see her mystery man, not be forced to obsess over what he looked like. By night’s end, her craving for a visual image would drive her to the brink of insanity. She sighed and thumbed the rim of her glass.

  “I will help you through dinner. Trust me, your evening will be terrific. I have a strong sense about these things. If you’re done with your beverage, I will take you to the dining room.”

  Cam drained the remaining sweet liquid and stood. Her host stepped behind her, trailing a comforting palm down to the small of her back. She thought his actions too intimate for a stranger. Yet, wasn’t she about to embark on an intimate journey with another stranger? Her guide towered over her and brushed her hair back from her forehead.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Removing your sense of sight.”

  As if it were an everyday occurrence, he slipped a blindfold over her face. Enclosed in darkness, she wobbled, off balance. Blood rushed in her ears, her breathing accelerated, and she froze.

  “I….”

  “Easy, you’re safe. I will tie this and escort you now. Trust in our skills to make this a memorable occasion. One you can talk about for years with your closest of friends.”

  “I’m not sure that I like this.” Turning her head both left and right to pinpoint her guide’s position left her dizzy. Gauging by sound alone proved more difficult than she’d imagined.

  “I’m beside you, Ms. Knox.” He touched her arm. “Take a few deep breaths. Your sentiments are those many women and men share. We’ll take a few steps for you to get used to my lead. Find comfort in following my voice.

  “Another piece of advice—ask for as much assistance as you wish. I’m assigned to you and your companion for the duration of the evening. I’ll be escorting you to and from the ladies’ room, should you need to go, for your safety and that of other customers. The blindfold is necessary before entering the restaurant. Without it, your eyes would try to overcompensate for total darkness and your equilibrium will try to play catch up. By blocking your sight in now you’ll be able to relax more and listen to my instructions.”

  The level of difficulty was staggering. With no sense of sight, her others were amplified, making it hard to focus on his words. Cam blinked to allow her eyes to acclimate to the snug fit of the blindfold. When that didn’t work, she traced the contours and found the fabric resembled a sleeping mask. “I think I can do this.”

  “Of course you can, Ms. Knox.” His inflection held the warmth of his smile. Cesaire linked his arm with he
rs. She listened to his footsteps and trailed nervously next to him, halting now and then so she wouldn’t stumble and embarrass herself. His patience, as he paused beside her without a word, relaxed her.

  Hushed conversation surrounded her on all sides. She stopped mid-stride to regain her balance, worried they might collide with something or someone.

  “Turn a slight left.” Cesaire said. She matched his pace with small hesitant steps.

  “Can you see anything?” She thought she passed a stream of light. How anyone managed to do this for a living was beyond her. Red alert kept playing over in her mind. And they had only been walking for a half a minute.

  “Not a thing.” He tucked her into his body, and she took confidence from his nearness.

  “But…how do you know where to go?”

  “I have practiced my entire life, Ms. Knox. I am blind.”

  “I don’t understand. You looked right at me with such gorgeous eyes. Kind eyes.”

  “Thank you for the compliment. Trust me, I am blind.” He squeezed her fingers. “When one sense is gone, the others compensate.” Cesaire slowed to a near stop. “Listen. Tell me what you hear. The kitchen is on your right.”

  She heard the rustling of dishes. “A tray of food being unloaded?” An aromatic smell caused her to quiver and then still.

  “Good. We can move forward. We’re almost to your table. Watch your footing. We’re entering the dining area. There’s enough room between the tables for us to walk through side by side.”

  She lowered her tone to a near whisper, not wishing to interrupt others. “How do you know where we’re going and if anyone is close enough to bump into us?

  “Practice. I do this every night. We’re here. Please sit.” A scrape—the chair against the floor? He guided her into the seat. Soft padding cushioned her bottom. Cam relaxed as he pushed her until the table edge met her questing fingers. He untied the mask and she pushed a strand of flyaway hair behind her ear. The darkness was unsettling. Even after blinking a few times and trying to focus, her staged loss of vision had her on edge.

  “Would you care for a glass of water or white wine while you wait?”

  “Wine, please.” Now that she’d made it to her meeting place in one piece, her thoughts returned to her date. What did he do for a living? Would he be handsome? Precise footsteps clapped against the flooring and then stalled near her, making her unsure where to focus her attention. She caught a whiff of familiar cologne, and heard the timber of Cesaire’s voice. She couldn’t make out what he said. He brushed against her and she heard a clink of glassware.

  She leaned into him, wanting the security of his presence. Pitch black was still pitch black, whether induced by blindfold or by total darkness. She’d liked wearing the mask more than having to look around without sight. He’d been right to place it on her before leading her here.

  “You can find your drink with me now.” Cesaire distracted her from her fears and traced her palm like a lover, moving it to the cool goblet. “I will always set it at this spot. I suggest you leave it here when you’re done. Can you remember, or would you like to practice one more time?”

  “I think I’m good. Thanks.” She itched to drain the entire glass, needing liquid courage to keep up her brave front. She tested her memory by putting her hands in her lap and navigating a little to the right, arm half extended. Her fingertips grazed the contours of her drink. Yes. Found it. “We’re good.”

  “Very well. When your dinner plates arrive, we will practice again.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Footsteps echoed against the hard floor. At the out-of-sync resonance of two individuals approaching, the urge to flee swamped her. Cam bit her lip in indecision.

  “I have Ms. Knox at table six.”

  Hyperawareness flooded her. Her date must have arrived.

  “To your right, Mr. Dawson,” said a feminine voice. The chair on her left scraped along the flooring. Her heartbeat thundered so loud she worried everyone in the place could hear it. The hand holding her wineglass shook. After taking a short breath, she realized the table tremor wasn’t caused by her nervousness, but a person next to her jarring it. Sensing his presence and the vibe he threw off made breathing difficult for her.

  “Thanks, Remi.” Mr. Dawson, her date. She couldn’t see him as she wished, but his close proximity gave her a taste of his cologne. With Cesaire on one side of her and Mr. Dawson on the other, she didn’t know who to speak to first.

  “Good evening, Camilla.” The boom of his voice and his crisp scent rendered her speechless. Cam gave in to the desire and leaned toward him to inhale hints of citrus blended with patchouli and musk, reminding her of a time when she’d wanted to be a perfumer. Mmm. The man wears the scent well.

  “Evening, Jonah,” she said.

  “Cesaire will assist you from here on out, Mr. Dawson.” Remi said. “I hope you enjoy your dining experience.”

  “Thank you, Remi.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Dawson.” Cesaire’s smooth accent failed to calm her edginess. She inhaled and gripped the sides of her chair to forestall the panic attack rising within her. How on earth would she last two full hours with a total stranger in this setting?

  “Breathe, Cam.” Mr. Dawson—Jonah—coaxed. “You’re safe.” He expertly drew her out of her anxiety attack, stroking her bare thigh with his large palm. Dear God, if she’d wanted to get a peek at him before, now she’d die if she was forced to wait too long.

  Cesaire broke down the menu options for sauces and desserts.

  “Cam?”

  “Yes, Jonah?”

  “Any of the choices appeal to you?”

  She’d been too focused on his lingering touch and masculine presence to listen to their host. The hand on her leg tightened briefly before his comforting caress disappeared, taking away the tingling sensation distracting her. “Please surprise me.”

  “I agree with my date. I’d like what the chef suggests.”

  “Yes, Ms. Knox, sir. I will return in a bit. Don’t forget,” Cesaire said, “your wine is in front of you. Also, take a moment to feel out the table. The bottle is to Mr. Dawson’s left, though I caution against overindulgence. Anytime you need me, please press the button on the table to the right of you Ms. Knox.”

  Cam mentally counted her consumption so far. Two glasses, only half full.

  “How are you doing?” The concern lacing his hushed tone was nice. Most of her previous dates had been too self-centered to question her well-being or ask her opinion, their main goal wining and dining her to garner points with her political family.

  “Better. I didn’t know what I was in for until now.”

  “You have to admit, this is an unusual place for a first date.”

  She wholeheartedly agreed. “Did you know Remi and Cesaire are both blind? This place is bizarre but amazing.”

  “Remi mentioned the entire wait staff is vision impaired. This is second nature to them.”

  Cam fiddled with the tablecloth, searching for something to hold. Instead of utensils, she collided with his hand.

  “Find what you wanted?” Jonah’s carnal tone sent ripples of excitement through her.

  “Erm. No.”

  “Shame.” So much hidden meaning behind the one word.

  “I was just wondering why there isn’t any silverware. Odd, don’t you think?” She patted the table to make sure she hadn’t missed it.

  “Maybe they’ll bring it with our food.”

  “You two are settling in nicely.” Cesaire said, and she jumped, bumping against the table. “Did I startle you?”

  The savory aroma that arrived with him set her stomach to growling. Dinner. “Food is all I can think about now. Cesaire, that smells so damn good.”

  “Your plate is between the two of you. Do you have any questions?”

  “Um, we’re missing silverware.” Manners kept her from snagging a bit of food to quiet the rumble.

  “Ah…I forgot to cover that aspect.”
Cesaire’s response held a sliver of amusement. “We only serve finger foods.”

  “Oh.” Forgot, his ass.

  “So we…?”

  “Feed each other?”

  “They can’t be serious.” Cam had never done such an intimate thing.

  “Are you chicken?” Jonah’s challenging tone set her teeth on edge.

  “I prefer beef.” Way to go, Cam. Sass popped right out, bringing a smug satisfaction at his sudden intake of breath. He recovered quickly, though, and moved his chair closer to hers, the sound of legs dragging against wood telling her just where he parked his seat. Definitely in her personal space. Heat seared her. Chemistry won’t be an issue. Could he hear how fast her heart hammered?

  When Jonah traced the contours of her face, his thumb gingerly sweeping across her jawline, she leaned closer, craving more. She yearned to know the story behind their calluses. He wasn’t someone who worked in an office.

  He popped a morsel of food into her mouth. The sneak. Cumin and curry exploded, leaving her wanting more. She tasted cilantro and onions but couldn’t name the other spices making her tongue tingle. She chewed the spiced meat encased in soft dough, grateful her date couldn’t see how greedy she was for another bite.

  To please her critical parents, she’d done a stint at fat camp her freshman year in high school. Although she’d never be skinny, she worked hard at maintaining a certain weight, which kept her from enjoying some of the indulgences of life.

  Tonight that all changed. The food was damn good, and so was the company. The pad of his finger resting on her cheek brought her out of her thoughts.

  “The chef is a food god,” she said, anxious for more. He fed her another piece, but not before she flicked the tangy glaze from the tip of his digit. A guttural growl from next to her caused her pussy to clench. He liked her impulsive action.

  The sudden absence of his caress gave her time to finish enjoying the succulent Indian fried meat. “Your turn.”