Box of 1Night Stands: 21 Sizzling Nights

by Anthology

  Even the man’s ears were shaped well, perfect whorls close to his head with a seductively curved arch. Her palms itched as she studied his profile. Sculpting him would take hours. Subtle shifts in his expression suggested far more complex emotions than were readily visible at first glance. His rounded eyes had just the barest hint of a tilt to the edges. Lines of tension webbed out from their corners. He held himself erect, shoulders back, yet despite the stiff appearance of his posture, he stood before her, relaxed.

  She read it in every even line of his body.

  Stripping him mentally, she wanted to study the lines of his musculature. Would his chest dimple at the center over his sternum? Would his waist narrow below his ribs? Would he have thick, evenly spaced, washboard abdominals? Would his hips flare, hardening with tension where the skin stretched over his ass and down his thighs?

  Moisture gathered in her panties and she forced her gaze upward. She was there to meet the man, maybe sleep with him, not strip him naked to sculpt him.

  But damn if she didn’t want the chance to at least run her fingers over the shapes.

  “It’s nice to meet you.” Brody dragged the words out slowly. “It’s really damn nice to meet you.”

  His voice carried just the vaguest hint of a New England accent, with hard vowels easing into the slow roll of his consonants. The way he spoke was both exotic and provocative.

  “It’s nice to meet you, too.” An entire hive of bees bounced around in her stomach, teasing the anxiety humming in her blood, and sending chill-laced tingles dancing over her skin. This is why I’m here. The big, brilliant plan to get over the fear of being touched. God, does he have to keep holding my hand?

  She fought the urge to jerk her fingers free as the moments he held her hand threatened to lengthen. Not fidgeting was harder than she ever imagined. Thankfully, a waitress chose that moment to glide up to them. Brody’s mouth quirked into a small smile for the woman, but he barely looked at her.

  “Lieutenant Essex, Miss Fabray, your table is ready.”

  Lieutenant. Like a light bulb swinging on a solitary chain, the accent, the dress and even his posture made so much more sense. He was military. Likely active military if the waitress wasn’t calling him mister.

  Sucking her lower lip, Shannon tasted the chocolate raspberry lip-gloss she’d decorated her mouth with as an afterthought. She hated make up and rarely bothered to mess with her hair. If Jeanine hadn’t insisted on coming over to the studio before her date, she’d probably have shown up in jeans, a T-shirt and her hair in a ponytail. As it was, the deep purple slacks and blousy black top with ties gathered snug around her too small breasts offered a different illusion. Her black velvet ballet flats skipped the need to balance ridiculously on heels altogether. She spent too many hours of her day barefoot to try and torture herself in heels.

  “Shall we?” Brody’s voice nudged her out of her ruminations and a guilty flush heated up the chill on her skin. She stood, staring at him.

  Nodding, she finally dragged her gaze away and followed after the waitress. Brody closed the gap behind her, the warmth of him teasing her spine as they weaved around the crowded room to a small table tucked comfortably against the wall. The high-backed booth gave them a suggestion of privacy, but they could still see the stage.

  Brody waited until she was seated, giving her a long considering look before sliding into the opposite side of the booth. She’d sat near the edge, not allowing him any room to join her on her side of the half round. Should she have scooted over?

  Indecision tangled with self-preservation. She’d shaken his hand, which was a solid first step. Maybe waiting before he touched her again was a good idea. But even as that thought cemented in her mind, his leg brushed hers beneath the table.

  She froze. The hard length of male calf seemed to burn right through the layers of clothing separating them. The heat seeped in, chasing the chill, and sent an entirely different wave of tingles dancing across her nerve endings.

  “Would you like something to drink? Or to hear about the specials?”

  “I’ll take a beer, whatever you have on draft is fine.” Brody’s words may have been aimed at the waitress, but his gaze locked on Shannon’s and a wrinkle of worry formed between his brows.

  Alcohol right now would be a bad idea. Her insides shredded, torn between the desire to bolt and the desire to touch. Stop it. He hasn’t done anything to threaten you or make you feel bad. Just order a damn drink already.

  “Actually, could I get a latte? With cinnamon?”

  If Brody was surprised by her order, he didn’t show it. The waitress nodded, but she kept looking at him anyway. The waitress moistened her lips. The woman’s blatant interest annoyed Shannon. But he hadn’t looked up or taken his eyes off of her.

  “Are you all right?” His voice sent all kinds of shivery prickles through her.

  “No. Yes. Um….” Mortification punched through the words. Heat swept up her cheeks and she clenched her hands on the table to keep from covering her face with them.

  “Can I take D, all of the above then?” Compassion eased the words, but his gaze never wavered nor lost its sober, serious gleam.

  “I’m sorry, I’m not usually this batty.” God, she should go in the bathroom and smack herself. The man sitting across from her was gorgeous. But it wasn’t just the contours of his face or the lines of experience etched into his features. He was just so male, everything about him humming with masculinity from the spicy musk of his scent to the hard lips that gentled into a smile.

  “Batty?” Laughter breathed under the word. “I don’t think I’ve heard that since one of the nuns yelled at me for driving her batty by canoodling with the girls.”

  “It’s a word.” Shannon shifted her weight and clenched her butt cheeks, fighting the urge to fidget. The warring sensations in her body sharpened the dampness soaking her panties. The visceral physical reaction seemed to be completely at odds with the nervousness tap dancing on her heart. “It’s got character and it sort of sums up how I’m feeling.”

  He waited a beat as the waitress delivered their drinks. The lights reflected through his golden beer and shimmered against the crown of thick foam at the top of the icy mug, while her coffee steamed and added a hint of cinnamon and pumpkin to the air around them. He held up a hand to the waitress, silencing the woman before she could speak. “Can you bring us a sampler platter of some kind, and give us a bit?”

  The waitress murmured an ‘of course’ and disappeared again. Wrapping her too cold fingers around the bowl shaped coffee cup, Shannon suppressed a shiver.

  “All right, who was he and do you need his legs broken?” The comfort with easy brutality he offered didn’t detract from the concern in his face or the targeted assessment in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry.” She blurted and ducked her head. The entire exercise was a terrible idea. Who was she kidding? She couldn’t spend five minutes with a real man without coming apart at the seams, much less bed one or rediscover the passion missing in her work.

  “Hey, you’ve got nothing to be sorry about. I’m a total stranger, but someone hurt you and I’m guessing it was a guy. So if you want his legs broken, I can buy you dinner, take care of that, and drive you home.”

  “You’re serious?” She glanced up at him through her bangs, afraid to meet his eyes.

  “Absolutely. Only a chickenshit bastard hurts a lady. I have no patience for that. So you tell me about him, we eat, and I’ll take care of it.”

  Was he for real? Shannon couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the dead serious offer. Nothing in Brody’s demeanor suggested a joke or even a line. His gaze remained calm, intense, and focused on her. He didn’t pay any attention to the scantily clad women on the stage demonstrating their flexibility. She squirmed under the brunt of his stare.

  “You didn’t show up for this date to get into a fight.”

  “A fight requires someone hitting me back. Trust me.” Brody grinned—a long, slow grin that
wrapped around her heart and tugged it away from punching her ribs. “He won’t. And if he does, that will just make it more fun.”

  The laugh escaped before she could swallow it. Her lips trembled and she smiled. “I think that’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

  “Then you have been seeing the wrong men, ma’am.” Brody paused as the waitress brought a platter of fried foods, potato skins, mozzarella sticks, chicken wings, and more. Shannon’s stomach let loose with a gurgle of hunger as the scents assaulted her. He waved the waitress off and set a small plate in front of her. “Ladies, first.”

  “Lieutenant Essex….”

  “Brody.”

  “Brody, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think tonight was a mistake.” She fought the urge to reach for the food, twisting her icy fingers around the coffee cup, desperate for the heat.

  “Maybe. But it wouldn’t be the first one I’ve ever made, and the food is good, the music is pretty nice, and you’ve got a great smile. So let’s eat.” He shoved the platter at her. “What was the son-of-a-bitch’s name?”

  Shannon reached for the platter obediently but hesitated as her fingers grazed the edge of the fried cheese. “I don’t know his name.”

  Brody nudged the plate again and she picked up the cheesy appetizer. Dipping it once into marinara sauce, she lifted and ate it. Aware of his approving gaze, she chewed thoughtfully.

  “Good?” He spun the plate until the sticks faced him and the potato skins were closer to her.

  Everything smelled good. It was all terrifically bad for her, but her stomach didn’t give a damn about nutritional value. Finished with her first selection, she picked up a potato skin and two barbecue wings to add to her plate. She couldn’t help another smile at his nod.

  “Yes. I am such a mess.”

  “You’re hungry and you’re nervous, and I’m a complete stranger. But that has its benefits, too.”

  He was just so damn matter-of-fact. He picked up one of the barbecue wings and ate his way through it with absolute neatness. She watched his lips move against the saucy skin. They were firm, determined, and sumptuous. Especially when his tongue flicked out to lick his lips. Her calf relaxed fractionally as his leg leaned on hers. Or maybe her leg was leaning against his.

  “Besides looking at a living piece of art, I’m not sure what the benefits are.”

  He stared pointedly at her plate and she let out a little huff then picked up the potato skin, nibbling the edge until the flavors of crisp potato, melted cheese and bacon caressed her tongue.

  “You can say anything you want, I’m not going to judge. You don’t have to see me tomorrow. There’s a lot of freedom when it’s only about tonight.”

  “But you came here for sex.” She said the word “sex” a lot louder than she intended as the music chose that moment to dip into a low note. Heat filled her face and she covered her mouth.

  His soft laughter stroked her from across the table. “I came here to meet a beautiful woman, listen to some sweet music, and eat dinner.”

  “I guess two out of three isn’t bad.”

  “This can be dinner, it all depends on what you’re in the mood for.” His mouth quirked and she heard the gentle rebuke. He wasn’t letting her get away with dismissing her own looks. But she knew she was far from glamorous like the women on stage, or as provocative as the women dining around him. Heck, the waitress looked more seductive than she did.

  Why hadn’t she worn a dress? Or something more attractive?

  “You’re too nice.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t have time for pretty words or empty compliments.” He added more food to her little plate before wiping his fingers on a napkin and taking a drink of his beer. “Do you want something else to go with this? Steak? Chicken? Fish?”

  “What is it with you and food?”

  “You’re nervous. Which means you probably didn’t eat much today. You’re cold. Which means your system is crashing. You’re sweet. Which means you are sitting there feeling bad about not being something else instead of just relaxing and being who you are. Food can help with two of those and we’ll work on the rest. Now, eat.” The conviction and honesty in his words laid her soul bare and she reacted to the order.

  Again.

  She picked up a barbecue wing with both hands and turned it around in her fingers before taking a bite. Brody was right. He was a stranger. He’d come there, vetted by 1Night Stand, just like she had been. He wasn’t a crazy or a psychotic. He was beyond kind, orders notwithstanding. But she didn’t even reject the command in his tone, if anything it just made him sexier.

  “I was raped.” She admitted this to the chicken wing, careful not to look at him. “I don’t remember it. I don’t remember him. I don’t even remember who it could have been.” The words slid out of the rusty vault on a hint of tears, but she blinked them back. Five years of therapy might finally pay off. “I was at a party and then I woke up, in my own dorm room, naked, used, and bruised. No one saw me leave with anyone, and no one reported anything amiss. It took me three days to even call it in and by then it was too late. What evidence they could gather was never enough.”

  Putting the chicken wing down, she dared a look at Brody. His expression remained steady but there was a fierce edge to the air around him. “I don’t know who he is or why he did it or if it really was rape. Maybe I consented. But I just never got past it. I did therapy, I changed schools, I threw myself into my work and here I am trying to look at a guy and not wonder if I’ll wake up tomorrow and not remember any of it.”

  The whole idea was ridiculous. Critics called her work cold, divorced of emotion, and empty of passion no matter how clinically beautiful. She thought if she could get past her hang-ups, she could find that passion they said was so sorely lacking. She thought the service offered by the 1Night Stand would be perfect.

  Safe, sexy, and simple.

  Her stomach twisted around the food she’d eaten. Dropping the remnants in her fingers on the plate, she leaned back. “And before you say anything, I won’t be offended if you want to bail. I thought I was ready for this and now I’m not so sure.”

  “You don’t know me, Shannon, so I’m going to forgive that insult to my honor. I would be offended if I walked away, so please don’t suggest it again. Whether anything else happens tonight or not, I’m having dinner with the sexiest woman I’ve seen in a long time. She’s smart, she speaks Italian, and I really need her to stick around.”

  “Why?” She couldn’t help but ask the question.

  Brody gestured to the stage. “They’re going to sing again, and I’m not really going to understand it if I don’t speak the language.”

  She twisted to see the couple strolling onto the stage while the house lights dimmed and the stretched-too-thin feeling warping everything inside of her relaxed. Slow, sensuous piano notes drifted across the hushed whispering through the club. Brody’s leg abandoned hers and a soft swishing pulled her attention back to him. He’d slid over in the booth and when his gaze caught hers, he tapped the spot next to him. Her heart pounded. Terror and excitement engaged each other in a fierce tug of war.

  The singer’s low, husky voice sang in the sultriest notes. Shannon could stay safely where she was, and keep her distance. Or she could gather up the dregs of her courage and swap to the other side of the table.

  Brody said nothing, merely watching her as the woman sang of the approaching night. If she sat there and remained a coward, he wouldn’t think any less of her. It didn’t matter that they’d just met and barely spent an hour together. She’d read it clearly in his even expression. He was on board with anything she wanted to do.

  The hell with it….

  Pushing her cup away carefully, she slid out of the booth and joined him before she changed her mind. The seat was warm from his body and the heat bolstered her flagging confidence. Brody smiled as he edged forward a bare fraction and murmured, “Tell me what they’re singing about.”

/>   The whisper of his breath tickled her ear and she looked away from the singers to find his face just inches from her own.

  Dear God, he’s even more beautiful up close…

  Chapter Three

  Brody braced one arm against the back of the booth, not quite allowing it to touch her. Everything about her screamed fragility, but a core of strength lay beneath her fragile exterior. The quaver in her voice when she confessed why she’d come on this 1Night Stand shamed his earlier thoughts. Thankfully, he’d never voiced them so he had no apologies to make. He could wish she knew who had assaulted her. Breaking a man’s legs was easier than destroying a ghost.

  “I am guessing this is a play in several parts because they are singing of seeing each other the first time and their first meeting.” Shannon shifted toward him, her voice pitched low.

  He remained completely still. He’d met enough girls in foster care, girls who’d been abused, girls who’d been molested, and more than one who fell in with the wrong boyfriend and perpetuated that cycle. It took strength to act. It took more strength not to react.

  “It was a dark day, she was so alone, not a friend to lean on, and then he came. He brought the sun with him, chasing away all the dark shadows in her life. She did not learn to breathe until he was there.”

  The little catch in her throat was back. The emotion quivering in her shivery tones beckoned to him. He’d never been one to walk away, not even from the most damaged of situations. He’d protected his fair share of strays through the years and every instinct screamed to protect this one.

  “He remembers the day as she does, the clouds on the face of the moon, the stars blotted out, with only heaven’s tears to bathe in and then she walked in and the sun tumbled from the skies to walk along the road, warming his path and bringing him home.”

  Brody spared the singers a glance. The pair stood at opposite ends of the stage, their backs to each other. The gulf between them was as palpable in the music, their song, and in Shannon’s voice.

  “She wants to always walk in the sun, but knows that even the brightest of days must give away to night and though they had to say goodbye, she carries the sunshine in her breast and will nurture it there.” A low sigh escaped on the last word, but the man’s voice picked up the descant and carried the song.