KEY WEST
An Ellora’s Cave Publication, October 2004
Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.
1337 Commerce Drive, #13
Stow, OH 44224
ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-4199-0030-7
Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):
Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML
KEY WEST © 2004 LACEY ALEXANDER
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
Edited by Heather Osborn.
Cover art by Dawn Seewer.
Hot In the City:
Key West
Lacey Alexander
Chapter One
“What can I do for you, beautiful?”
Carrie Marsh pushed a ringlet of hair from her face and made eye contact with the cute, tan guy who’d just addressed her from behind the counter. The sun beat down relentlessly, but something compelled her to lift her sunglasses and take a better look. He had a smile that could melt an iceberg, although his ocean blue eyes made her think he fit much better with his current surroundings than with anything cold. Both of his ears were pierced with small silver hoops, and to her surprise, she found that sexy. His light brown locks were streaked with gold, no doubt a result of tropical living, and the messy hair made him look like the proverbial beach boy.
No, she thought, make that beach god. The mere act of meeting his gaze turned her fluttery between her thighs. Definitely not her normal reaction to a guy, so that instantly qualified him for god status in her book.
“I…have these tickets,” she said, lowering her glasses back over her eyes and digging the vouchers from her purse, “but they were part of a vacation package, and if possible, I’d like to trade them in for something else.”
The beach god took the tickets from her, his fingers brushing lightly over hers, sending another surprising skitter of awareness tingling up her arm and down into her breasts, which suddenly felt a little heavier than they had a moment before. He had great hands, she thought. Large, as tan as the rest of him, and…it was insane, but just that brief touch left her feeling as if he’d know exactly what to do with those hands when it came to sex.
He raised his eyebrows and offered a small grin. “You don’t want to go on the sunset wine and cheese cruise? The Sea Wind is a great boat.”
When was the last time a mere smile ran through her like little rivers of pleasure? She couldn’t remember. In fact, at the moment, she couldn’t remember much about anything. She was too busy taking in his tan, muscular arms and the broad shoulders that threatened to bust through his t-shirt. A sexy tattoo—some sort of Celtic knot design—banded his upper arm. And, as much as she enjoyed looking at the top half of him, she couldn’t help being sorry the kiosk he stood behind prevented her from seeing his bottom half, as well.
Only when he raised his eyebrows did she realize she hadn’t answered him. And while, once upon a time, the sunset wine and cheese cruise had sounded spectacular to Carrie, now such a romantic excursion was the last thing on her mind. The cruise was clearly for couples and she was no longer part of one. “I’m…here by myself, so I don’t need two tickets to the same cruise. And besides, I think I’m in the mood for something a little different.” It seemed the easiest way to say, Nothing moonlit and romantic, please.
“Different, huh?” He gave his head a sexy tilt. “How about the Party Barge? It’s a sunset cruise, too, but a whole different atmosphere. Loud music, lots of people looking for fun, and all the rum punch you can drink.”
Yesterday, Carrie would have turned her nose up at “the Party Barge” in a heartbeat. Today, though…well, even if it sounded a little wilder than her usual fare, she was tempted.
“And if you want to go tonight, you even get me.”
She blinked. “What?”
As the heat of a blush burned her cheeks even hotter than the south Florida rays, he laughed. “I’m part of the crew.”
“Oh,” she said, feeling stupid. But…was he flirting with her? He was sure as hell still flashing that grin that shot straight to her panties.
How could she resist? “Okay,” she said, finally offering a smile of her own. “The Party Barge it is.”
“Great.” He made a couple of notes and placed a new, bright-yellow ticket on the counter. “That’s one ticket replaced, but you’ve still got another to spend. How about a snorkeling cruise? I’ve got space open on one of tomorrow’s midday trips. You’ll leave at eleven, get back around two, and lunch is provided.”
Snorkeling, huh? She’d never snorkeled before, but it didn’t sound nearly as intimidating as the Party Barge. “Sure. That sounds fun.”
“All right then,” he said, making more notes and placing yet another ticket into her palm, wrapping his hand around hers until she made a fist around the vouchers. “Don’t lose these. They’re your tickets to a good time in Key West.” He winked playfully, and she knew he’d just spouted a slogan he’d been trained to say, and which he’d actually managed to pull off without sounding hokey.
Still recovering from the warm touch of his hand—a touch she’d somehow felt between her thighs—Carrie turned to walk away, but after only a few steps, she stopped and looked back. “What do people generally wear on the party boat? Is this all right?” She glanced down at her form-fitting baby doll t-shirt with the word Angel scripted across the chest, a little halo hanging crookedly over the “A”. Beneath it she wore a casual short khaki skirt with a drawstring waist.
His gaze swept warmly across her breasts before returning to her eyes. “It’s perfect, angel,” he said, adding another wink that fluttered all through her as she finally strode away.
* * * * *
Two hours later, Carrie found herself sitting on the ocean-side balcony of her hotel suite, attempting to read a book. Attempting was the key word, though, because she was failing miserably. She had to reread entire paragraphs because her mind had drifted—her eyes passed over the words, but her brain didn’t absorb them.
Finally, she set the book aside, reached for the cold drink on the table next to her, and peered off into the distance where blue sky met bluer sea. A gorgeous view, but her thoughts remained back at the kiosk with her beach god.
She could scarcely understand her reaction to the guy, but she’d been thinking about him ever since their brief meeting. She kept seeing his eyes—the way his gaze had seemed to trickle all through her. She’d loved the way his deep tan had seemed to say he was one with the tropical environment, and she wondered if his tattoo signified anything special or if it was simply a design he’d picked from a book. She also wondered how big he was, at rest and when erect. She wished she could see him that way—naked and ready.
Taking a sip from her soda, she lowered the glass back to the table, shook her head, and let out a sigh. Get hold of yourself. Given what had happened yesterday—her so-called wedding day—she couldn’t believe she even wanted to look at a guy, any guy, erect or not.
But maybe, she reasoned, this was her way of rebelling. Maybe lusting for a guy she didn’t know would actually be good for her. And the surroundings probably didn’t hurt, either. Something about the combination of sun, sand, and water always turned Carrie on a little—it was a fact that the best sex she’d ever had with Jon had been on beach excursions. That combination of elements felt so sensual to her; such climes tended to release her inhibitions.
So when the mere act of lowering her hand to her leg made a ripple rush through her crotch, she didn’t work very hard to fight it. And whe
n she felt the urge to slide her hand slowly up under her short skirt to the apex of her thighs, she didn’t fight that, either. Instead, she bit her lip, gazed out on the blue expanse of ocean that stretched endlessly before her eyes, and raked her middle finger over her clit, through her panties. Mmm, yes—that felt good. Just what she needed. Except she needed more, of course. So she rubbed it again, up and down, up and down, letting the pleasure sweep upward through her breasts, down through her thighs.
Following her instincts, she eased down in the chair until her butt sat on the edge, and she lifted her feet to the railing directly in front of her, tilting her pelvis. She raised her skirt to her hips and used one hand to pull the crotch of her cotton panties aside, exposing herself to the ocean breeze.
She hissed in her breath at the sensation the cool wind delivered to her aching pink vagina, which her new position allowed her to see. She continued stroking the nub protruding from her folds, sighing as the blissful vibrations echoed through her.
Good thing her balcony faced the ocean, or someone might see. A glance away from her crotch out over the water made her focus on the sailboats and schooners floating past. What if someone on board had binoculars and decided to explore the hotel balconies? What would they think when they saw her, panties pulled aside, touching herself? Another rush of heat rolled out from her crotch. Would it be so horrible if someone saw her masturbating from a distance?
In her thoughts, it was a guy, of course, holding the binoculars. He took on a shape, a face, in her mind, and even though it was probably impossible, the voyeur became her hot, tan beach guy. Watching her. Watching her finger her pink, wet folds for him. On impulse, she eased her middle finger into her passage.
God, she never did this. Never. At home, alone, late at night in her bed—maybe. But a blatant act of masturbation where it was possible some unknown person could see? Not her style.
And yet, she couldn’t stop now. She could only let her eyes fall closed as she gently slid her finger in and out, pressing her palm rhythmically over her neediest spot. She could only see him in her mind, pretend he was out there watching her—she let his imagined lust drive her own.
Reaching her free hand into her soda glass, she extracted an ice cube and drew it down to her crotch. While one finger continued to move inside the warm little passage below, she used her other hand to rub the ice over her clit.
Mmm—oh God, yes. So good and cold. The stimulation rushed through her body ten times faster now. She lifted her pelvis, pushing against the small cube as it rubbed over and around her swollen nub, the melting wetness streaming through her gaping opening.
That’s when she saw—oh no! How had she not seen it before? Another balcony set perpendicular to hers. No one was on it, but if someone was inside the room, standing at just the right place, they could be watching her right now and she’d never know. Oh, please be at the pool, or shopping, or anywhere else.
In one way, this new element made her want to stop, but in another more powerful way, it made her even hotter. So not like her, so contrary to her normal self. Who was this masked woman?
But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the rush of cold liquid gushing through her warm folds. All that mattered was the melting chunk of ice still delivering pangs of freezing pleasure to her aching clit. All that mattered was the image still planted squarely in Carrie’s mind—her beach man with binoculars, watching her touch herself…and maybe opening his pants and reaching inside to draw out a wonderfully long erection and touching himself, too. Watching her, stroking himself. Watching her. Stroking his hard shaft.
“Mmm…oh!” The cry of pleasure left her unbidden as the icy stimulation finally brought the orgasm crashing down over her. She moaned as the cold ice sent hot waves of satiation roaring through her like a freight train. Yes, yes, yes.
When it was done, the ice was gone, and she was drenched between her legs. She sat up in the chair, but didn’t pull her skirt back down, not wanting to get it wet before her sunset cruise. Where she would see him again. The man she’d just masturbated to thoughts of.
She shook her head, feeling sane once more, not quite sure where such a brazen act had come from. Must be the sun and water, she told herself. Must be the shock of what had happened yesterday.
A glance to the other balcony ensured she was still alone, thank God. Had she actually wanted someone to be watching her?
No, it was only a fantasy, not a real desire.
Reaching up to her hips, she eased the wet panties down and off, and went inside to dry herself.
Well, one thing was for sure—she was already discovering that there was life after Jon, sexual desire after Jon.
Just knowing that made her feel a little stronger than she had only a few hours before. But as for what had taken place out on the balcony, well—sexual display just wasn’t part of who she was, so she told herself it was an aberration, one that would be her last.
* * * * *
Chris McCann stood behind the shaded bar on the Party Barge dipping up rum punch as the partiers boarded. The colorful catamaran, painted in bright shades of red, yellow, and purple, was strung with mini-lights, strands of colored beads, and plastic Hawaiian leis. Rock music blared from speakers situated throughout the boat.
Two pretty girls wearing bikini tops and shorts approached. “Rum punch, please,” said the more petite of the two, dark hair falling around her face. She nearly perched her triangle-covered breasts on the bar while he served up punch from the big vat at his side. When he passed them their drinks, he noticed both girls’ nipples shone through their tops.
“I hear there are games?” said the other girl, a blonde with a large chest barely contained in her black Lycra suit. She raised her eyebrows at Chris.
He laughed softly. The two looked like prime candidates for the sexy competitions that would take place once they’d set sail and given people enough time for a few drinks. “You two should play,” he said in friendly reply.
“Are you playing?” asked the dark-haired girl. She’d now planted her elbows on the bar, squeezing her breasts together, clearly wanting to show him her cleavage.
He grinned. “Nope, I’m working.”
“A shame,” said the blonde. “You look like a lot of fun.”
The two girls’ eyes continued flashing sexual invitations until finally he gave them another smile and said, “Uh, not to be rude, ladies, but I think the guys behind you are waiting to get some punch.”
“Oh!” The dark-haired one giggled as the chesty one drew her out of the way, and the group of guys behind started flirting with them as Chris dipped up their punch. Once they’d all disappeared from the bar, he took the opportunity to glance toward the boarding ramp. He wasn’t sure why, but he found himself keeping an eye out for the cute girl in the angel shirt.
Because she was cute, he supposed. And because she’d maybe even been a little nervous, too. And you didn’t get a lot of cute and nervous in Key West, where most girls were sexy and ready. Not that he minded a girl who was sexy and ready, but…something about the angel girl had caught his attention. Variety was the spice of life, after all, and he’d instantly been able to see she was different than the women he’d grown used to down here.
As if thinking of her had made her appear, she stepped on board just then, to be greeted by his best friend and roommate, Scott Fletcher, who stood welcoming the cruisers and handing out cheap leis. She wore the same outfit as before, the word “Angel” hugging her breasts so sweetly he was almost jealous of the tight little shirt. Her short skirt showed off shapely tan legs and he almost wished he’d told her to wear a bikini, like girls often did on this cruise, because he definitely wanted to see more of her body. Strawberry-blonde ringlets fell to her shoulders and he noticed, happily, that she’d shed the sunglasses—he wanted to see more of her eyes, too.
Once she left Scott, she took on the same slightly nervous look as before. He could tell she was trying like hell to hide it, but she clearly was
n’t comfortable being by herself. Which begged the question, why was she by herself? It also made him wonder if he’d been a little too quick to suggest the Party Barge. Maybe he was reading her wrong, but he suddenly got the idea she might not be a partier.
Then again, he’d seen more than one girl come onto this boat all shy and quiet before they got started drinking and flirting with guys, ending up half-naked or more on the deck. So he shouldn’t size up his cute little angel-girl too quickly.
“Angel,” he called softly.
She looked up and spotted him across the boat. A pretty smile unfurled across her face as she approached.
“Glad you made it,” he said with a grin.
“Anyone sitting here?” She motioned to the few stools at the bar.
“Nope.” Most of the Party Bargers came to the bar for their drinks, then headed back out into the sun. “You’re welcome to, though, if you want to keep me company while I hand out punch.”
She climbed up onto a stool, leaning her elbows on the bar. Green—her eyes were a great, marbled shade of green, and she was even prettier than he remembered.
He motioned toward the big vat of red liquid next to him behind the bar. “Rum punch?”
“Sure.”
As he passed her a full cup, their fingers brushed and without quite planning it, he let the touch linger. “I’m Chris, by the way.”
“I’m Carrie.”
“Where are you from?”
“Maryland.”
He nodded. “So, Carrie from Maryland, are you ready to party?” he asked, unduly interested in her answer. He couldn’t explain why, even to himself, but something about a cute girl like her ending up in a wild place like Key West, alone—as she’d told him earlier—had him intrigued.
She looked pensive. “To tell you the truth, I’m not much of a partier. Or a drinker.” She concluded by taking a big sip of the rum punch and the irony made them both laugh. “It’s good,” she said, pointing to the cup.
Key West Page 1
