by Jade Hart
Acclaim for Jade Hart’s COFFEE AND COCKPITS
This book will blow your freaking mind!! I couldn't believe the route this book takes! It completely jumped the tracks from the usual romance. It is a must read!—Shana, Goodreads
Who doesn't love a little airplane action? Well this novel has the action, suspense, tailspins, and steam!! The tailspin in this book gave me whiplash that I was totally not expecting. It was beautiful and had me in tears and asking myself, is this possible? and if so how beautiful of a story.—Kara, Book Crush Book Reviews
This is the place where I applaud to you, Jade. I would have never expected to read anything like that when I requested the review copy. Thank you!
Should you read it? Abso-freaking-lutely! A book like no other. It's a definite must read, people!—Triin, T’s Bookish Moments
Acclaim for Jade Hart’s: OCEAN KILLS
"Jade Hart's OCEAN KILLS sizzles as an intensely moving debut...It's time to make room for a new literary star!" –Aiden James, bestselling author of The Judas Chronicles and Cades Cove
“My verdict–it easily gets 5 stars from me. Once I began reading, it was a race to the finish. I couldn’t stand not knowing what was going to happen and then, it ended! And, I still need more. I need to know more about her abilities, the markings, and Callan!”
—Fel Wetzig, Peasants Revolt
“This book is FANTASTIC!!! It is something paranormal that you have never seen before. The writing is exquisite, the story line flows, and you can't help but feel everything the characters do. This book has catapulted to my #1 favourite book. A must read!”
—Shana, Goodreads
“I'm a little mad at this author—because I missed out in serious sleep time!! I am over the moon with this series! Gimme gimme gimme more, as soon as possible!! 5 DEVASTATING CAPTIVATING AMAZING PAWS!!!”
—Maghon Thomas from Happy Tails and Tales Blog Reviews
BOOKS BY JADE HART
OCEAN BREEZE SERIES
Ocean Kills (Dec 2012)
Ocean Slays (coming 2013)
Ocean Hunts (coming late 2013)
STAND ALONE CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE
Coffee and Cockpits (Apr 2013)
Octopus Lotto (coming mid-late 2013)
Snow-dust and Gold (coming early 2014)
Anamorphic Sight (coming 2014)
URBAN FANTASY
Loka (coming May 2013)
SEXY NOVELLA “Circotica” SERIES
Mirror Amour (May 2013)
Mirror Amour
Copyright © 2013 Jade Hart
Published by Jade Hart
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
The name ‘Circotica’ was allowed to be used thanks to the approval of the New Zealand based circus: Circotica. https://www.facebook.com/CircoticaCircus?fref=ts and http://www.circotica.com/. In no way is this book based on their act or have any other affiliation apart from approval to use the name.
Published: Jade Hart May 2013: [email protected]
Cover Design: by Megan at Abuse of Reason: http://www.facebook.com/abuseofreason?fref=ts
Edited by: Looking Glass Editing. http://www.lookingglassediting.blogspot.co.nz/ and TJ Loveless and Robin Alexander at http://www.cliffhangerediting.com/home.html
Images used in manuscript from Canstock Photos: http://www.canstockphoto.com
The big-top rolled into town the night of my twenty-fourth birthday.
Swaths of billowing material teased childhood memories as I drove home from work. My hands gripped the steering wheel as I peered through a rain-splattered windshield at the half-dressed man erecting the circus tent.
What the hell was such a fine, half-naked male doing on a blustery rainy day? Surely his rippling abs and cold-puckered skin wasn’t viewable material for children?
I rolled to a halt for a stoplight and couldn’t tear my eyes from the opulent dove-grey and purple of the big-top. None of the glaring yellows and blues from childhood arenas. This one screamed money—and something else—something sinful, decadent, and sent shivers down my spine as each spire punctured the sky.
A honk wrenched me from drooling over the man hoisting ropes; his arms bulging with hard work. The only thing separating us was the water-slicked road, and I had a great view of his damp skin, his jeans dark with rain. And yet, even in the chilly autumn air, he didn’t look bothered by the cold. His lean chest was that of an acrobat: sculpted, toned, lithe, and my fingertips ached for the perfection. I’d never been into the pretty package before, but hello! I didn’t mind indulging in some eye candy.
The honk came again, louder and obnoxious.
I glared at the old woman in my rear-view mirror. She flipped me off, and my mouth dropped open. Holy shit, how rude can some people be?
Grinding my teeth, I put my crap-box of a car into gear and took off, but not before the brown-haired acrobat with his five o’ clock scraggy shadow caught my eye.
My mouth went dry as he winked. Oh God. Something primitive shot through my body, and my foot slammed on the accelerator. My tyres squealed on the damp road, and my cheeks blazed as the man threw his head back and laughed.
Damn man and his stupid muscles.
Didn’t he know I favoured petri dishes and germs over a human specimen? I hadn’t studied all my life to be a microbiologist and not know about the chemical reaction my body was undergoing. It wasn’t anything more than feminine instincts wanting to mate with a nice example of male flesh. Nothing more. Nothing worth getting flustered about.
Almost as if the world decided I’d been focused on germs and viruses for too long, a soggy flyer fluttered with a gust of wind and splattered against my windshield.
I jumped at the sudden lack of visibility, and I reached for my wipers, then froze and slammed on my brakes.
My eyes widened even as my stomach grew hot and twisty.
In sexy, scrawling writing was an invitation:
Circotica invites you to Tassels of Tantalization.
Where fantasies are indulged, and reality is ignored.
One night only.
Strictly R18.
Couples encouraged.
Singles implored.
Entry must include recent medical health and proof of age.
We look forward to you coming.
My cheeks kindled into flames at the last line. Holy shit, whoever was in charge of advertising wasn’t shy. Coming—there’d be no coming. No way in fiery hell would I go to something so… so kinky. Decorated around the edges of the invite were grainy photos of couples in all sorts of sexual poses—some bound, some in a dominatrix type position.
No wonder my skin flared with sinful thoughts when I first saw it. It wasn’t a circus for children; there’d be no lion tamers, or pretty woman wrapped in silk—actually there probably would be pretty women wrapped in silk—but it wouldn’t
be child friendly. More like bondage… with velvet blindfolds, feathers, and syrup.
My mouth watered at the image of me shivering with delight as something sticky was poured over me and licked off. I blinked in shock. Never had something so erotic popped into my head before. Never had I thought of being tied up during sex, let alone paying for somewhere that did. Then again, I didn’t know what friskiness went on behind the purple and grey façade. I wouldn’t find out, either.
It was a sex circus.
Did such a thing exist?
I flicked my wipers on full speed to get rid of the incriminating evidence. No way did I want my flatmate to see that. If I was a prude, he was an amoeba. We worked at the same lab, but different hours. Noah took over my work when I quit for the day, and vice versa. The only time we saw each other was on weekends, and even that was forgettable. At least I liked to have a drink with friends, and indulge in life. Noah? He made friends with meningococcal and the flu. The only thing that caused a spark in his hazel-green eyes was cracking some germ-code or staying up late in the incubator willing a new trial to work.
I had doubts he was even a hot-blooded man. Compared to the guy who just winked at me, I’d have to say a big, fat no. Even though Noah wasn’t bad looking. In fact, he was bookishly handsome. With toned muscles from working out in our lounge, and the sculptured jaw his European mother gave him, he was rather delicious. But with no libido, no drive for anything but microbiology, even I was bored by him, and I could sit and read a thousand-page text-book about syphilis and not fall asleep.
My stomach flip-flopped as I drove on autopilot all the way home. Why did the sex-maniac circus have to stop a block away from my house? Why did I have to drive past it? And why was I pissed about it? I didn’t have to go or put up with the sexual innuendos. I was Linden Dylan. My sights were firmly set on a professor’s position and to earn accolades for curing cancer or saving the world from germ warfare. I didn’t need a good time in the form of a brown-haired man with abs like an old-fashioned washing machine.
Definitely not.
* * * * *
Okay, so I lied.
Dinner was dismal. Broccoli with no dressing and a piece of steamed fish. Yes, it was healthy, but shit it was boring.
My eyes flashed across the sparse, white and rattan lounge as Noah exited his bedroom.
His lanky, muscular frame was dressed in his usual black jeans and navy buttoned shirt. His short hair looked sexy-messy—styled with wax to give him the bedhead look—not that he’d been rolling around in bed with anyone. I’d of heard through the walls.
He froze when he noticed me sprawled on the couch. “I thought you’d gone to bed?”
What at freakin’ nine p.m? I wasn’t a party hopper, but I wasn’t a nana, either. “Nope. Just studying.” I motioned to the heavy text in my lap. He didn’t need to know the thought of going to bed turned me on, rather than relaxed me. For the first time, I noticed the shape of Noah’s lips. Full, but not too luscious like the over-Botoxed look. His face was prim and proper, but beneath was an edge that intimidated me in a purely feminine way. I’d never noticed before. Why not? How had I been living with this guy for eight months and all we’d discussed was microbes and disease?
Sitting up, I asked, “You heading to work?”
His eyes flashed to the clock hanging over the fairy-light decorated fireplace. “Umm, yes. Heading in early.”
My ears pricked. Noah—sweet, bookish, insanely smart Noah—just lied to me. My heart rate stepped faster. “You do know your shift was pushed back? You made a note of it in the staff room.” It was the truth. We’d been banned from the lab from nine till midnight for rigorous cleaning once a month. Noah knew that. So where the hell was he going?
My heart sprinted as a thought barrelled into me. Not him too! Circotica. Had he seen a flyer? The titillation big-top for adult orgies.
He avoided my eyes as he smoothed his shit. Something crinkled in his front pocket. What was that? A condom? It sounded more like paper. Oh shit, was that his medical Circotica requested? Was he really going to a sexfest?
“Just gonna go get something to eat, perhaps head to the bar and watch the highlights of the baseball game last night.” He cocked his head, looking at me. “Why? What are you up to?”
I forgot how to swallow. The air in our tiny apartment shattered into temptation. If I wasn’t sitting on the couch my knees would’ve wobbled. And my knees never wobbled under the stare of a man.
“Just going to sit here and read.” No way. Lying again.
Noah scratched the back of his neck. “Alright. Sounds good.” His eyes darkened, going more hazel than green.
My stomach tightened, and I swore he frowned. Could he smell the pheromones cooking inside me? I’d never wanted to jump a platonic flatmate, but hot damn, there was something about him. Was it the knowledge of where he was going? The knowledge he was into that sort of thing, and I never knew? Or was he like me and tempted by the unknown, the allure of not having the shame of the morning after of acting out a fantasy with a stranger then having to make small talk.
“You’re not going to work, are you?” I slapped a hand over my mouth the moment the words were free. Oh. My. God. It wasn’t my business. So what if he would be kissing, touching, licking someone in fifteen minutes from now? I might be wrong.
His eyebrows flew into his hairline; his jaw clenched. “Course I’m going to work. Where the hell would I be going?”
Okay. Defensive. I was right. He was going to get his freak on with a random. I bit my lip as an image of me being that random filled my thoughts. Problem was, I lived with the man—it wouldn’t be forgotten and would make our living situation unbearable afterward.
My eyes dropped to his lips. Was he a good kisser? What was his secret fantasy?
I sucked in a breath and got myself under control. “Sorry. Don’t know why I doubted you.” Hoisting the book on my lap, I added, “Don’t work too hard.”
His shoulders tensed, but he nodded. “Thanks. Eh, have a good night, then.” He headed toward the door, tucking his keys into his pocket from the bowl on the sideboard.
Awkwardness settled over us, which wasn’t anything new. We never fully relaxed around each other. Probably our own damn fault. We never talked—so how could we relax? We were practically strangers.
“I guess I’ll see you around.” His gruff voice made my hair stand on end.
Before I could over analyse what he meant, he disappeared through the door and slammed it closed.
I sat there, heart bucking. What did he mean by that? See me tomorrow or see him at the big-top? Holy shit, Linden. You’re hornier than a rabbit.
Maybe I should go to bed early. Would that cure my affliction? I was all hot and bothered for no apparent reason.
Okay, lied again.
Apparent reason was that damn Tassels of Tantalization and the repeating thought of what people were getting up to. Could there be all manner of sexual escapades occurring, or was it all in my head?
It didn’t help the hot acrobat-worker kept teasing me by winking over and over on replay. Maybe I could just go and check it out? I didn’t have to look too closely or participate. Perhaps there would be some tricks to watch—while keeping my clothes on—and not in any way perverted.
Even as I nodded, thinking I was sure there’d be some tameness to the frisky circus, I growled. I was lying again.
Just the knowledge the big-top was only a ten minute walk made my blood smoulder with need. It wasn’t that I needed sex—I could get it fine, thank you very much. It was the no strings attached. The allure that no one would know me—other than Noah—if he was there. For one night, I could live my ultimate fantasy with no defamation of character or rumours.
The heavy book thudded against the floor as I stood. My body pulled toward a night of decadence and naughtiness even before I’d given myself permission.
Will he be there? Mr. Hot-Workman?
What would I do if he was? God, Lind
en don’t answer that. What would I do if Noah was there? Don’t answer that, either.
My eyes widened as I imagined strolling into the big-top in my white lab coat with high kitten heels and nothing else. For one night, I could allow myself to pretend. To forget my career path and my life choices. To be a—dare I say it—slut, and indulge in things I never let myself consider. I could explore the parts of me that grew hot and bothered under my sheets at night. The woman who wondered what it would be like to kiss another girl. The woman who wanted very much to let her fantasies free. What was so wrong with that? It was the circus for hell’s sake. A night of sensory overload—in this case it could be physical, visceral, sexual.
And boy did I want a ticket to that.
The text-book lay abandoned on the white shag pile rug as I dashed to my bedroom. I should’ve guessed Circotica would consume me. One look at my bedroom and I could be there already. Purple and soft-smoky grey graced every inch. Right down to the diamante bedside lights and decadent velour drapes. After all I was single, had a great paying job, and liked nice things.
My hands shook as my heart bolted around my chest, knowing what I was about to do. My dresser wobbled as I wrenched open the top drawer to access the skimpy lingerie an ex-boyfriend bought me for our one month anniversary. Shame for him, I broke up with him that night, but he still wanted me to have the underwear. I’d suffered too much guilt to wear it until now.
But it seemed eerily appropriate.
Soft pewter silk embossed with black lightning bolts graced the lacy bra and the tiny thong was totally see-through. They weren’t exactly underwear for support or a hard day at the office. They were purely for driving a man wild, or granting some sort of feminine power from beneath clothes. A bit like superman in his spandex—I was superwoman in my thong.
And boy, did I feel powerful as I had a quick shower and stepped into the delicate garments.
