One Night Only

by Stewart, Lynsey M.

  Really? We’re really going there after all that? I already looked like a prize fool who couldn’t handle a telephone, now I’ve got to admit that I’m at a hen party under false pretences.

  ‘It’s not that great, actually. In fact it’s not funny at all. I guess you had to be there and Helen was but now she’s not. She’s nowhere to be seen. Tonight. At the hen party. She hasn’t shown up. I shouldn’t have shown up. I should have taken a leaf out of Helen’s book.’ I laughed to myself and blew out a breath when I watched Gail and Sarah look at me like I was having some kind of out-of-body experience. I wanted to be truthful and tell them I was at a hen party for a woman I’d never met. I wanted to get the first utterance of a word out of my mouth, but they were looking at me with such hope in their eyes that my funny story of how I knew the bride was going to blow apart their cheeks with laughter.

  The truth was somewhat different.

  Bianca, the bride-to-be worked on the second floor of Humphrey and Bracks in sales. She was a whiz at telecommunications apparently. Good for her. Helen had been chattering on about a hen night she really didn’t want to go to and she had nothing to wear and no one to talk to and BINGO. That’s when it all started to fall apart.

  Helen showed me a blurry photo of last year’s Christmas party. Bianca was singing her heart out at karaoke and there was an inflatable saxophone partially covering her face, but for some reason she looked familiar and the more I squinted and tipped my head to the left the more I thought I recognised her. Only I didn’t. I hadn’t realised it yet, but I had mistaken her for an old school friend who I hadn’t seen in years. After telling Helen countless stories reminiscing about my school years and how I would love to catch up with her, Helen invited me to her hen night. We agreed to meet at the bar; the first one of us to arrive would buy the first round of drinks. Helen didn’t show up and after meeting Bianca I realised I’d never met the woman before. So, here I was. At a hen party for someone I didn’t know. Yay me. I continued to win at life.

  Why the hell I didn’t leave when I realised my mistake, I’ll never know. I guess I saw it as a chance to get to know my new colleagues better. I’d forwarded calls and done some photocopying for them, but that was where our social interactions had ended.

  ‘Amy? Sweetie?’ I turned to Sarah who was looking at me with a quizzical expression. ‘Ah, there you are. Back in the room! Thought I’d lost you for a second. I’m not being funny, but you said you had some kind of story. Can we wrap it up? I’ve heard there’s a stripper on his way at any minute,’ she said behind her hand and through pursed lips. I failed to see how anyone could hear her give away a hen night not-so-secret over the thud of ‘Chapel of Love.’

  There was nothing else for it. I had to be honest. I smiled falsely and took a deep breath. ‘Basically, the truth is,’ they nodded like two Jack Russells waiting for a treat, ‘I thought Bianca was an old friend of mine, but she isn’t. I agreed to meet Helen here, but she hasn’t shown up so now I’m at a hen do for someone I’ve never met before with people I don’t know. That’s essentially it…really. Yep. That’s…the story.’ Gail and Sarah stared at me like I had just spoken to them in Portuguese. Backwards. ‘Not funny.’ I shrugged. ‘Just a bit tragic.’ I folded my arms across my chest and crushed the plastic shot glass nestling there. The beads of the necklace pulled on the hair at the back of my neck making me wince before I rubbed the sore spot. My elbow connected with the person beside me who promptly drowned me with a large glass of red wine. At the shock of cold soaking through my top I jumped and bizarrely lost my footing on my awesome wedge sandals, resulting in the strap still attached to my ankle but the sandal facing the opposite direction to my foot. I was about to ask the humiliation gods if this night could get any worse when the first bars of Tom Jones’s ‘You Can Leave Your Hat On’ started and I was deafened by piercing screams.

  Gail and Sarah were off. I’d never seen two people move so fast at the same time, pulling their phones out of their bags. I scanned the room for a seat and set off dragging my wedge behind me in a comical bounce and thud from one leg being higher than the other. What a night. I was coming to the conclusion that it was time to plan my escape route before I did any more damage to my reputation, which was a feat in itself as my reputation was already pretty crap. I found a spare stool and plonked down on it in an attempt to gather myself. The shot glass around my neck dipped and spilled the remnants of the red wine that had collected there down my front, which created a red stripe filtering down to my lady bits. Great. I dropped my bag to the side of me, watching as the contents shot across the floor and a woman with heels that could enter The Guinness Book of Records for highest in the history of hen nights stood back onto it, shattering the phone screen in one step.

  Yep. Definitely time to go home.

  I was about to mouth fuck my life and make a sharp exit when suddenly I was plunged into darkness and wondering how the heck I had gotten a bad case of whiplash when I was sitting perfectly still. I pulled the dark fabric off my head, stroking my hand over the hair it had encouraged to fluff up on its descent, and held up the offending item to get a better look. It was a police jacket. A navy police jacket. There were silver numbers on the lapels, handcuffs hanging out the top pocket and a little blue police badge pinned to the chest. I turned it around, holding it by the shoulders and read aloud the glittery lettering on the back: ‘Do I need to use my love truncheon? What the–’

  I was wiped out by another offending item but this time it landed on my lap. I picked the smaller object up and dangled it off my finger. It took me a few seconds to become familiar with it. It wasn’t something I’d seen before. A tiny scrap of navy that looked like something you would use as a slingshot. Holy fuck! I threw it across the floor and quickly wiped my hands down my dress to make myself feel better. A damp thong was not something I was used to handling. I rubbed my thumbs against my fingers and wondered what the oily residue was. Was that…baby oil?

  The noise of the crowd had become louder and they all had a slightly wanton look in their eyes. Women were standing on chairs, working in packs and wolf whistling. Sarah was dancing on a table with a police helmet fastened under her chin. Oh…The not-so-secret stripper had arrived. I quickly gathered up my lipstick, some change and a couple of credit cards that had fallen out of my bag, dragged the stool over and stood on it, trying to forget that it was an ideal opportunity for another wedge sandal/broken ankle incident. I stuck my head up, holding my arms out to try and steady myself to try and get a better look. Bianca was sitting on a chair, her veil sitting precariously lopsided and a huge smile plastered on her face. I was guessing the smile was caused by the naked man straddling her, grinding his body to hers as he encouraged her to rub in the baby oil he’d just dripped down his chest.

  I didn’t normally get giddy over strippers. If someone arranged a stripper on my hen night I would probably smile and politely die. I didn’t see the appeal of a tanned muscle man in a police officer’s outfit. It all seemed a bit greasy and grubby if I was being totally honest. I could navigate my way around the cheesy side of strippers and laugh along with girlfriends, but these women were screaming like their life depended on it. Maybe it was the fact he was as naked and not afraid to swing his appendage in the face of an ecstatic bride-to-be. He had a nice bum though. Wow. A pretty amazing bum. I’m talking globes of perfection. Not a hair in sight. I could blow a balloon to exactly the size I wanted and it still wouldn’t emulate the perfection that was the curve of his arse cheeks. Did I mention his back? He had more dips and curves than a hill in the English countryside. I was pretty sure you could balance a stack of pound coins in the hollows at either side of the bottom of his spine.

  Delectable.

  Had I used that word before? I didn’t think I had. Maybe once. With…him. Ethan. My first love. But that relationship had ended horribly and I didn’t like to dwell on it. It only caused immense heartache and a need to eat every cookie in the biscuit tin. He’d let me go a
nd I’d allowed it. Heartbroken and wiser but still bloody hurt.

  ‘You’ve been a very naughty girl. I’m going to have to…take you down.’

  Oh Jesus, give me a break. He may have a bum moulded from the clay of heaven, but his lines were awful.

  ‘Maybe even handcuff you.’ I watched as he patted himself down, which was ridiculous because he was as naked as the day he was born and probably just as slippery. I held up his jacket with the handcuffs hanging out the pocket and tried to gain my balance again. I held it up above the crowd hoping he would forget the handcuff idea, but at the same time was thinking, They’re here if he needs them.

  ‘Amy? Is that you? What the fuck?’ the stripper with the great bum said as our eyes met and my lungs took a nosedive to my feet. I was still holding the jacket in the air, my wedge sandals bobbing around on the stool and before I knew it I was on the floor in a heap, his police jacket over my face, my red-wine-stained dress around my waist and my stripping-police-officer-first-love, Ethan, kneeling at the side of me. ‘Amy? Are you alright?’

  No. I wasn’t. This day was officially on the ‘done’ pile.

  * * *

  Want more? Get Stripped Bare here!

  Also by Lynsey M. Stewart

  The Music and Letters Series

  Let Me Be Your First

  When the decisions of her past affect the choices of the future, will Elle be able to find her happy ending?

  Elle Davis is a hopeless romantic and epic daydreamer, who’s always dreamed of love at first sight. But in her mission to find Mr. Right, Elle stumbles across Mr. Wrong…followed by Mr Too-Good-To-Be-True.

  And there’s another problem—she’s still a virgin.

  What’s a girl to do when she finally has the option of taking that next step? How about finding a happily ever after… even if it means accepting the consequences of past choices?

  Is Elle willing to save someone from their path of self-destruction, or end another’s search for their fairy tale? And will she break someone’s heart in the process, even if it’s her own?

  Dating really shouldn’t be this complicated.

  * * *

  Let Me Be Your Hope

  One regrettable lie drove them down very different paths.

  One rash decision forced them apart.

  Abi Sinclair is a determined social worker and committed party girl. But underneath the bravado and empty one-night stands, she’s hiding a broken heart…

  Jamie Dawson is Abi’s lost love, the only man who’s ever made her feel alive. When he left two years ago to take care of his terminally ill mother, they agreed to communicate only by letter, both believing their love was meant to be.

  Suddenly, Jamie is back, and he’s Abi’s new manager. Only, he’s a different man—too different.

  Desperate for answers, Abi must decide: is the love she and Jamie shared worth the risk of permanent heartbreak? Or can they recover what they lost all those years ago?

  * * *

  Let Me Be Your Truth

  When opposites attract, there’s bound to be fire.

  Kate Roper has it all figured out—a successful career as a social worker, friends who love her, and a perfectly sensible, but boring, boyfriend. Then she meets Danny, a tortured artist with a troubled past. He’s everything Kate shouldn’t want, but Danny’s sexual confidence intrigues her, his tattoos enthrall her, and she craves all he has to offer.

  Art therapy sessions have saved Danny from his tormented past. But when Kate shows up with her positivity, paintbrushes, and flirty skirts, Danny can’t seem to escape the grim reminders of when he was left to bury the past under his addictions.

  Danny doesn’t do romance.

  He does sex.

  Amazing sex.

  He can teach Kate the art of orgasms so this Miss Goody Two-Shoes learns the difference between monotonous and mind-blowing. And as their relationship intensifies, their pasts collide. They soon find they have more in common than they first thought, but can Kate and Danny find their truths in each other?

  * * *

  Let Me Be Your Last

  Suspicion can drive you mad. But it can also prove you right.

  Gem Brown had it all. A successful husband, two gorgeous boys, and a life mapped out. Until the day she found her husband teetering on the edge of ecstasy, his mistress on her knees before him. The betrayal provided her with…clarity. She would never trust a man again. Now, four years later, through the strength of friendship and love of her kids, Gem feels ready to start taking chances. Enter Josh. He’s a match made in heaven—or maybe it was Loveisintheair.com? Epic dates, swoon-worthy grand gestures, and a promise of happiness threaten her ‘men suck’ mantra. But is Gem ready to fall in love again? Will she test the theory that high levels of sexual tension often lead to earth-shattering sex? Can Josh help her heal old wounds, or will ghosts of the past fail to let her go?

  * * *

  Stripped Bare

  I couldn’t deny that seeing my ex-boyfriend jiggling his junk in the face of an ecstatic bride-to-be was a complete mind hump.

  I didn’t normally get giddy over strippers, but this wasn’t any ordinary stripper. Ethan was my childhood friend, my teenage crush, the boy that featured in all of my firsts.

  We had made a childhood pact. If we didn’t find the right person to lose our virginity to by the time we reached eighteen we would be each other’s first.

  First kiss, first love…

  First heartbreak.

  We had been apart for three years.

  I had forgotten how glorious he was. I watched him grind his hips to the music, creating a dance with the woman in front of him. But after the rip of Velcro, his thong thrown in my direction, his eyes finally focused…on me.

  Who knew being whiplashed by a sequinned thong would lead to a moment of clarity? It was time to start questioning everything that happened between us until I was left feeling bare.

  Stripped bare.

  Stripped Bare is a 30,000-word novella. If you like them long and meaty, this book may not be for you. Or depending on the context…maybe it is.

  * * *

  Sliding Home

  I was flying high with the Florida Falcons until an injury completely changed my life. Playing baseball had been my dream since I was a kid and America couldn’t get enough of the Brit who’d made it to the big leagues. The game was my world, but suddenly I couldn't do it anymore. I was bored. I was frustrated. So I filled the void.

  Sex was an easy answer for a pro ball player with an English accent, and soon my misdemeanours were splashed across the tabloids. Now I was a bad joke, a sleazy internet meme, a washed-up third-baseman who enjoyed playing with women more than playing the game.

  I was given an ultimatum: go home to England and turn things around, or face being dropped. My reputation had been knocked out of the park for the final time. I needed a lifeline.

  And then she showed up. An obstacle in my path struggling with a suitcase.

  Jess tempted me before I’d even left the States. But there was something more. She intrigued me. Could the actress with the knockout smile help turn my life around?

  I offered her a business arrangement she couldn’t refuse. No complications. No distractions. What could possibly go wrong?

  Sliding Home is a novella that was originally featured in Rounding Third: A Baseball Anthology.

  * * *

  A Novel Christmas

  Go to an island, my publisher said. Reclaim your writing mojo, he added. Be inspired, he suggested. Oh, sexy shenanigans, was I inspired. Drew Carolla would do that to a woman. Reclusive and brooding, an ex-pilot-come-sexy-woodcutter-come-luxury-wedding-venue-owner-come…here.

  Writing romance doesn’t come easy when you don’t have a muse, and I was on a deadline. Four weeks to write my next bestseller or face being dropped by my publisher. Thankfully, watching Drew chop wood, sweaty and shirtless, soon had the words flowing like water through Cornish coastline rock pools.

 
But Drew had his own stories to tell. Why did his luxury wedding venue no longer host weddings? Why did he scoff at the idea of romance? And why, despite that, did he look at me like he wanted to wake up on Christmas morning and find me naked in his bed?

  Conundrums. Drew was full of them. Too bad I wasn’t writing psychological thrillers.

  Would Drew Carolla, a man who didn’t believe in romance, inspire my greatest love story or leave me with unfinished chapters?

  * * *

  Lament

  Dear Grief Fairy,

  I’ve met a man who encompasses grief. Alexander Blayren, a brooding cellist with a body I crave and a soul I ache to know better. He’s rude and bold, brash and sharp, but I see the lost soul underneath. Crying out. Surviving grief for the sake of his daughter. Just.

  Before we met, Alexander didn’t believe you could survive grief. Loss had painted his life black, dimming the bright lights and quietening his music. But I didn’t agree with the man I heard play out his demons through his notes. The man I find myself infatuated by. I found my way through grief, because I had a channel for my pain. When I lost my mother and sister, dance was my therapy. Movement my recovery. Could music be his? Could the haunting melodies be his reprieve? The cry of a bow across the strings his lifeline? Or could his journey to survival begin through me? Through my body, the one he studies as I dance, through my cries of pleasure under his fingertips or his undeniable arousal at my willing restraint...