He’s trying to read my face to see if I need help. He can tell you’re a cop. He doesn’t know you’re into real estate now.
Suddenly, I recognize him. It’s been years, but I remember him from before. He’s the sex offender who didn’t do it. I smile at him, and he grins, nods. Then I check him out as he moves down the bar, his gait easy, his big body lean and toned. Yum.
You watch me watch the other man, and something in you snaps.
“Do you know how long I was stuck in your apartment, Rita? Or should I call you Sally? Sally Slap My Ass Stone from Panama Beach, Florida.” You tick off the stats from the background check you’ve done on me. Like that’s really something. “Graduated first in her class from Panama High, majored in accounting at Northwest Florida U. Dropped out junior year, disappeared. Beginning, I am guessing here, a life of petty crime.”
“Petty? Since when is a like-new Prius and fifty thousand dollars in cash petty?”
That’s how you learn what was in the faux lambskin satchel. My take for helping my boss with side jobs. Until the one where he screwed me over.
“Took me six and a half hours to untie one hand. With my teeth,” you say, then you drain what’s left in your mug. “Fifteen minutes to undo the other one. Three seconds to call in a buddy of mine. Had to call from your neighbor’s apartment. Wrapped myself in your bath towel. Told the guy I was locked out of my girlfriend’s place. My buddy picked me up, had a good laugh about it. He thought you were something else, Rita. Sally.”
You wave your arm to signal Sexy Bartender. You want another beer. Two will not be enough, either. Your eyes. Your damn eyes.
I feel a teeny bit bad I did that to you. But you escaped soon enough. No harm done.
“I was trussed up longer than that in the goddam loony bin,” I counter. “Then you dragged me around town, looking to prove me a liar.”
You laugh at this. “You are a liar, Ms. Deltone.” You emphasize the name, like it’s got extra meaning beyond its flimsy sound. “You and your boss over at Burgers Plus. You picked up for King, but that one deal went bad. He left you there. You owe him nothing, certainly not your silence. He’s the king of shit.” He sipped his beer, made a smacking sound with his damp lips. His nice soft lips. “You hear we arrested Mr. Burgers Plus for money laundering? That guy worked for some very bad people. Now he’s going to share lots of ugly details about all those nasty organized crime types he did business with. So he can shave years off his own sentence.”
Your eyes are shimmering now. Amusement? Or lust?
“You may get thrown under the bus, too, Rita-Sally. Again. So you might want to find another state to hide in. Not stick so close to home.”
I sip my drink. It’s strong. Harsh. The way I like it.
“You contacted me to warn me? Is that it?” I already know that’s only part of the reason. The rest is our unfinished business. Your eyes are all the answer I need. I still want you, too. “I’m staying at the Beach Club. You want to come by, see my luxury suite? I have a wonderful ocean view.”
Oddly, my heart is lunging around in my chest like it’s had one too many. Men, not drinks.
When you nod, your face serious, your eyes deeper than the sea and rougher, full of a black undertow, I swallow hard. There’s something about you that sucks me in. And gets my blood rushing. Wildly.
Steadying myself with one hand against the bar, I chug down my drink. You set a twenty on the bar, add a ten. A generous tip. That’s when my heart actually leaps up, a young feline, full of a weird sort of zest. I reach for your hand. It’s big and warm and receptive. I want it all over my skin, rubbing here, petting there. I stand up, pull on your hand. It’s calloused now, and there’s something black under the nails. From your handyman work, your real estate reconstruction. Your hands, I want them to go to work on me now. Smooth out all the rough edges.
I can’t wait to get you back to my hotel room.
“You ready, Detective? Because I believe I owe you one.”
I hold my breath. I’m actually tetchy because I got the hots so bad for you. And now, finally, you’re available. So am I. Neither one of us has to be tied up, either. Not unless we want to be.
At the other end of the bar, the bartender lets out a laugh. The kind of full-throated laugh a man has when he’s fully satisfied with his life.
You stand up, look down at me. Your eyes find mine, and what I see in there now are endless waves crashing on a white sandy beach. “You can testify, too, you know, Sally. Get your slappy ass out of trouble. Then you won’t need to hide. You can live anywhere.”
I nod. Not the worst idea I’ve ever heard. I could act as shark bait, lure in the bad guys. I’ve done it before. But this time the payoff would be better. Much better. I would get to be around you.
This appeals to me. I grin up at you, and that makes you smile.
“You do, in fact, owe me one, Ms. Deltone,” you say. “And I’m very much looking forward to collecting.”
With you around, collecting on what I owe you, I’d feel safe living here in Dusky Beach. Safe from getting screw jobs, and safe from giving them.
About the Author
Originally from Boston, Mickey J. Corrigan lives and writes and gets into trouble in South Florida, where the men run guns and the women run after them. She is the author of half a dozen novellas including the paranormal romance Dream Job, the romantic romp Me Go Mango, and the unlikely romance with the unlikely title: F*ck Normal. Her first novel, Sugar Babies, is a sexy thriller. The Wild Rose Press, Inc. is publishing her dark romance series, The Hard Stuff. Set in Dusky Beach, each novella in the series focuses on a tough woman in a tough situation who falls in love. With the wrong guy, of course.
Visit Mickey at
www.mickeyjcorrigan.com
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5828647.Mickey_J_Corrigan
To chat with Mickey J. Corrigan and other Wild Rose Press authors of erotic romance, join us at www.groups.yahoo.com/group/thewildrosepress.
Also Available
Vodka Warrior
The Hard Stuff, Book Two
by
Mickey J. Corrigan
http://amzn.com/B00K0SB56A
A lonely divorcee living in a tacky development in Dusky Beach, Florida, Theresa Tierney is an educated hick and her own worst enemy. She has a wild streak and a bit of a drinking problem, both leading to a few too many bad choices.
When her neighbor’s new roommate arrives, a good-looking body god, Theresa is both curious and disgusted. A brash New Yorker, Vario Fumesti says what he’s thinking and looks sexy as hell doing it. The brawny mountain of pumped muscle is mega alpha male. But his frequent hot tub parties with friends from a local strip club fire up Theresa’s anger. In fact, Vario continually makes her feel and do things she isn’t expecting.
A series of screw-ups, lust, and love set Theresa on a rollercoaster ride that’s out of control and threatening to jump the tracks.
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Paris Rose
by
Dawn Douglas
http://amzn.com/B00J9OBB1K
When Lucy Rawlinson moves into the fixer-upper next door to her ex-husband, Nick, she has more than renovations on her mind. Desperate to win back his love, she begins a campaign to reignite the passion they once shared.
Nick is haunted by the same bitter-sweet memories of their marriage and the baby they lost, but he is determined to never forgive his ex-wife's infidelity. All Nick wants to do is move on and forget, a task that now seems beyond impossible with Lucy and her noisy little dog living right next door.
Is there a way back? Can Lucy convince Nick that everything they once had is worth fighting for?
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publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
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