The American Princess
Best Love Story Ever
Published by Jennifer Tate at Smashwords
Copyright 2015 Jennifer Tate
Cover Jenny Anderson SilverKat Graphics
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be distributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy. Thank you for your support.
...but for those who love, time is eternity.
Anonymous
Unable are the Loved to die / For love is Immortality.
Emily Dickinson
It is love...that is stronger than death.
Thomas Mann
Table of Contents
-1- BETTY-JO & BRAD Trifling with Breasts that don't belong to you
-2- MERCURY Speed Bumps
-3- FELICITY READY A Love Child for Felicity
-4- VENUS Sex is Best with Someone You Love
-5- BETTY-JO CHANCE A Loveable Lover
-6- BETTY-JO CHANCE The Mystery Hero
-7- BRAD RAIDEN Something Bad
-8-...BRAD RAIDEN A Barracuda for a Minnow?
-9- BETTY-JO CHANCE & RICHARD WHITTLE Beware The Dung Beetle
-10- BRAD RAIDEN & SANDRA MANDERVILLE You Sexy Thing
-11- BRAD RAIDEN & SANDRA MANDERVILLE The Rain Dance
-12- BETTY-JO CHANCE & THE DUNG BEETLE Richard Wins a Party Favor
-13-.BRAD RAIDEN The Sixty Kilometers Per Hour Club
-14- BETTY-JO CHANCE & JIM BOB O'HARA Goodbye Virginity?
-15- BRAD & SANDRA MANDERVILLE Will You Walk into My Parlor?
-16- BRAD RAIDEN & SANDRA MANDERVILLE Open Sesame?
-17- BETTY-JO CHANCE & JIM BOB O'HARA Witchcraft in a Pickup
-18- BRAD RAIDEN & SANDRA MANDERVILLE Souvenir Panties
-19- BETTY-JO CHANCE Daddy's Girl
-20- BETTY-JO CHANCE & VICTOR Dirty Old Robin
-21- BRAD RAIDEN & PUSSCAT Bull Fighting PussCat
-22- BRAD RAIDEN Carolina Bound
-23- JIM BOB O'HARA Trouble
-24- BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN Capture a Rainbow
-25- FELICITY READY The Real Enemy
-26- BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN A Love for Eternity
-27- BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN Forever a Virgin?
-28- BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN Loony as Lemmings in Love
-29- BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN Branding the Tawny Cat
-30- BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN A Tawny Working Girl?
-31- BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN The Perfect Fit
-32- BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN O'Hara's Revenge
-33- BRAD RAIDEN A Hex on Happiness
-34- BETTY-JO CHANCE Drifting on Dreams
-35- BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN Training for Glory
-36- BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN A Sinister Venus
-37- BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN Betty-Jo—A Tawny Concubine?
-38- THE DUNG BEETLE Revenge
-39- BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN Goodbye PussCat
-40- BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN Tough Love
-41- BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN What Price Fame?
-42- BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN A Tawny Mountain Woman Fantasy
-43- BRAD RAIDEN Return of The Tooth Fairy
-44- BETTY-JO CHANCE Jealousy and Heartache
-45- BRAD RAIDEN & SANDRA MANDERVILLE A Fond Farewell?
-46- BETTY-JO & BRAD Love, Trust and a Conniving Tooth Fairy
-47- BETTY-JO CHANCE Dressing for Show
-48- BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN Moisture Conducts Electricity
-49- FELICITY READY A Man for Felicity
-50- BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN A Proposal—Raiden Style
-51- BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN Every Male's Fondest Fantasy
-52- BETTY-JO & BRAD Helen of Troy and a Tawny Enchantress
-53- BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN Mr. Thirty Million and One
-54- BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN Wedding Vows and Jockey Shorts
-55- BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN Belting a Tawny Cat
-56-.BETTY-JO CHANCE & LORD WORTHINGTON The Gray Ghost's Warning
-57- BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN Grand Slam Sex Appeal
-58- FELICITY READY Fight Fire With Fire
-59- BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN Tawny—A Playboy Centerfold?
-60- BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN A Tawny Exhibitionist
-61- FELICITY READY Payback Time
-62- BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN A Tawny Trophy
-63- FELICITY READY When the Moon is in the Eighth House
-64- BRAD RAIDEN Protecting Tawny
-65- BETTY-JO CHANCE Return of The Dung Beetle
-66- FELICITY READY A Blow for the Cause
-67- BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN A Love Worth Dying For
-68- BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN A Love for Eternity
EPILOGUE
-1-
BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN
Trifling with Breasts that Don't Belong to You
Brad Raiden clasped his hands together and sank to his knees. "Bless you, Venus. You received my e-mail."
It was a balmy Monday afternoon, in September of 94, at the Coastal Carolina University tennis courts, and Brad was being undone by the impossibly beautiful woman whose life he had saved six months earlier—but more than her beauty, there was a joyousness that frolicked in her smile, and sparkled in her emerald eyes. It was as if he was seeing a woman for the first time.
Is it really Venus who has brought us together again? He didn't know. What he did know, was that the tennis playing vision had to be a Darwinian creation, because nobody could have created her in only a day. In simply bending to pick up a ball, she conjured up an obvious need that tugged at him without permission. He was a kamikaze moth being drawn to a moth slayer's flame. I have to meet this moth slayer, but how? Guys hung around her. One of them, a tough-looking football-hero type, appeared to be especially tight with her.
Fortunately, Venus must have also received his follow-up e-mail, because how else could he explain the moth slayer's appearance in his economics class the next day. He moved as close to her as he dared—and she took his breath away. I have to meet this moth slayer, he thought, but how? He ran through his options again. All were still bad.
* * *
When Betty-Jo Chance arrived for her economics class on Thursday, she found hockey-playing Brad Raiden lounging in the seat next to hers. Thanks to the Fox, she knew who he was. A day earlier, her friend had dragged her to the varsity, Gray Ghost's season opener, against the Florida State Lancers. Then, with her skirt riding halfway up her come-get-to-know-me-better thighs, the Fox had seated them two rows behind the Gray Ghost bench.
Brad came in a magnificent package that included looks, size, and a captivating grin—and he could play hockey. He had the speed of a Custer at full charge, the wizardry of a Picasso with his brush, and the fearlessness of a Mighty Mouse in the nasty zone, that area in front of the opponent's net where no mercy was expected, and none was given.
"How tall do you think Raiden is?" she'd asked the Fox.
"Six one maybe."
"Good. I like my men to be taller than I am when I'm wearing heels."
"Forget it, B-J. I saw him the other day. I've already put him at the top of my To Do list." Then the Fox had shrugged and hugged her. "T' hell with first—we'll share him."
"You know sharing never works," she had replied.
"It will this time. I'll have him M
onday through Thursday, and you can have him Friday, Saturday and Sunday."
"Why do I get him Friday and the weekend? Those are the best days to have a guy."
"I know, but I already have more than a few weekend guys. What I need is a weekday guy or two—so I won't get stale. My body is my amusement park, seven days a week."
She'd grinned at her only close friend. "You're a pathetic, oversexed fox."
"I know that too. But I'm not your average sex muffin. By my reckoning, I've taken more guys to the Promised Land than Moses."
She'd laughed with the Fox. "Maybe all you need is a vacation...."
When Brad scored his second goal, the Lancer goon—number thirteen, LaPointe—had decided to rearrange Brad's face. As Brad and the goon squared off, an anxious feeling had startled Betty-Jo, but she needn't have been concerned because, as the Fox put it, "Brad's all over that nasty goon 'like a fat boy on a Smartie.'"
LaPointe had exited the fracas with a bloody nose and a cut lip, while Brad had skated to the penalty box with a self-assured grin and a carefree wave.
"I wonder what my life would be like if I were the only other player on Bad Brad's team?" she had thought out loud.
The Fox had tapped her shoulder. "Don't forget, you've agreed to share your prospective playmate with your best friend."
* * *
Now there Bad Brad was, crowding her seat in her economics class, and looking scrumptious. He was wearing a faded blue, button-down dress-shirt, a beige sports-jacket, aging, fitted, denim jeans, and adidas tennis shoes. The way he lounged in his seat, his thumb hooked casually in a belt-loop, gave him a commanding presence, and the stubble on his face combined with the dimples in his cheeks to elicit an unwelcome feeling within her.
What is the matter with you? She gripped the seat beside her, nibbled at her lower lip, and brushed back her hair with her fingers. Then, as her erratic breathing steadied, she shrugged and undid a button on her blouse. Easier to entice a bear with honey, she thought, as she walked down the isle, and sidestepped across three seats toward Bad Brad Raiden.
"Excuse me, is this seat taken?" she asked.
He hesitated, so his reply came as she was half seated. "...Matter of fact—it is."
She almost fell, as she struggled back up. 'Not all men are annoying,' she thought. 'Some of them are dead!' Peeved, but not knowing what else to do, she crossed her arms, and glowered at him.
A cocky, yet engaging Tom Cruise kind of grin appeared, and his amused brown eyes held hers—longer than they should have—refusing to let them slip away. "I'm saving it for B-J Chance, Coastal's hot, new, tennis-playing sensation."
"Why thank you, Mr. Raiden." She uncrossed her arms and sat down. I can't believe what his voice is doing to me. It was warm and deep, with a caress like velvet, and a sound like leather.
His eyes left hers, and moved casually past her throat to linger on her breasts—before returning. Then he shifted closer, as if he had a God-given right to be in her space. "How do you know my name?"
She allowed his voice to caress her again. "Doesn't everyone know Bad Brad Raiden—the Gray Ghost hockey superstar who scored two goals in one game, and brought a goon to his knees—without heavy breathing?"
He looked at her suspiciously. "I'm saving the heavy breathing for a more appropriate occasion."
"There's a more appropriate occasion for heavy breathing than a fight to the death?" She gave him the hint of a smile.
"You saw that Lancer goon try to kill me?"
"Everyone was betting on the goon."
"Even you?"
"Because that goon got unlucky, you escaped the infirmary. So now, instead of convalescing, you're here annoying me."
"I'll make it up to you. I've inherited a couple of tickets to the Myrtle Beach Amusement Park for tomorrow night. You're invited to share in my good fortune."
Is this guy holding his breath? she wondered, as she considered her reply. "It's sweet of you to want to make amends, but Brad, there are no tickets to the Park. Entrance is free."
He gave her his sexy grin, and commandeered her eyes. "Now that's a relief," he said, "because it means I'm looking at a cheap date."
A cheap date? You grinning dufus, she thought, but she recovered quickly, and gave him her best grin in return. "An inexpensive date," she corrected.
"We'll find out tomorrow. I'll pick you up at your place—seven-thirty." He stood up, moved across the row of seats, and strode up the isle.
You can't leave yet, she wanted to yell after him. I haven't said yes!
* * *
Brad suspected that romance required magical moments, moments that were gifts from the gods, so he was determined to give the gods every opportunity to work their magic on the purdy moth slayer. On his way to pick-up Betty-Jo, he parked Old-yellow on the Kings Highway. Then he strolled into the Myrtle Beach Amusement Park to flex his muscles on the StrongMan—a test-of-strength pole. How wrong can it be to give the gods a helping hand?
The objective with the StrongMan was to hit its base hard enough to blast a clapper through eight measures of strength, ranging from Wuss to Superman, and ring the bell at the top.
As it turned out, swinging the mallet was much like hitting a slap shot. The secret lay in snapping your wrists at the optimum moment. By Brad's third attempt, he was up to speed. He rang the bell, and won a large, brown-eyed bear.
"Awesome," said the tobacco-chewing carnie, "but yuh wasn't supposed t' win."
"Why not?"
"Keep this to yourself. I had The Man on an almost impossible settin'. I like to give the bears to guys with hot lookin' gees—good for business."
"Then your business is about to boom, because I have the best lookin' gee this side of heaven. And I have another incentive for you." He handed the carnie a twenty. "I'll be back in half an hour. Don't make it too difficult for me to win my bear again."
"You're an okay guy," the carnie said, as Brad turned to leave. "If yuh really want t' impress her, try it with one arm."
* * *
When Betty-Jo opened the door to her penthouse apartment at the Strand Princess, she was miffed, because Brad was early.
"Good evening, Ms Chance," he said, drawing out the Ms, and punctuating it with his grin. "Glad you didn't bother to dress for the occasion."
Betty-Jo was still wearing her white cotton blouse and cutoffs. She hadn't changed because her tennis practice had run late. By the time she'd grocery shopped, made dinner for her daddy and brother, and grabbed a bite for herself, there had barely been time to dab on the lavender perfume that the cosmetician had told her men found irresistible.
"Mmm," Brad continued, "let me guess, Obsession, and you're wearing it for me."
"You should be so lucky!"
"Have I told you about my lucky ducky?"
"Sadly, Brad, you've just removed all doubt."
"Begging your pardon!" he said.
Got him, Betty-Jo thought. "Don't you know that 'it's better to remain silent, and be thought a fool, than to speak and remove all doubt?'"
"That's not a very nice thing to say to your brand-new boyfriend!" Brad replied.
Betty-Jo was right back at him. "Well 'I'll try to be nicer, if you'll try to be smarter.'"
An obviously amused Brad took a step toward her, and faked a swing at her butt. Then he chuckled as she jumped out of the way of his phantom shot.
That miffed Betty-Jo even more. "I'm sure you realize, that 'by being here with me, some town, somewhere, is without its fool.'"
He thanked her with his grin. "You're going to have a wonderful time tonight, young lovely, because I've decided to give you a starring role in this fool's evening of merrymaking and intrigue."
On the short drive to the Park, Betty-Jo fumed. Then she had a talk with herself. B-J, you are pathetic! I can't believe you bought lavender perfume to encourage this arrogant, self-centered fool. Merrymaking and intrigue? He'll get merrymaking and intrigue alright, but not the kind he's looking for. I'm nobody
's young lovely, and he knows what he can do with his ducky!
When they arrived at the Park, Brad slipped into a be-nice mode. But even being nice, he was still too cocky for Betty-Jo's liking, and his be-nice phase didn't last long—about sixty seconds.
"Tell me you love me," he teased.
"Love you? The meager smarts you initially inherited have just deserted you! I don't even like you!"
"Have you considered my charm, noble character, and cleverly disguised intellect? 'But enough about me—how are you doing?'"
A smile managed to escape Betty-Jo, but she was able to reign in a heavy duty laugh. "I'll be as charitable as possible," she said. "Five neurons less, and dimwits would snub you!"
He humored her with the kind of smile that fathers reserve for misguided daughters. "Be careful, I bruise easily."
"Not likely. No one could have been born as self-centered as you. You've been taking affectation lessons. Haven't you?"
"That sounds to me like a rush to character assassination," he said, with a laugh.
As they wandered around the Park, Betty-Jo delighted in the feel of the wood chips under foot, and the glow from a full moon overhead. Then there were the sights, the smells, and the sounds: barkers calling, laughter, organ music blasting from the rides before it mixed with a melody from an ancient calliope, and occasionally—high-pitched above it all—screams. Brad, once again charming, fed her his strawberry flavored cotton candy. But that only served to irritate her because she wanted to stay mad at him, and how could she when she loved cotton candy—the way a great fluffy clump of the stuff dissolved away to only a sprinkling of sugary flavor on her tongue?
They strolled past a shooting gallery, a ring toss, two ball throws, and a whack-a-mole before Brad stopped beside the StrongMan. There, a massive dread-locked bro was handing the carnie a dollar—doubtless, visions of big bears were dancing in his head. The Hulkster hefted the mallet, positioned himself carefully, and then, after a magnificent windup, drove it onto the StrongMan's base with all the force he could muster. Unfortunately for the Hulkster, the clapper wasn't impressed. It struggled two-thirds of the way up the guide rail, and—to the amusement of the Hulkster's girlfriend—labeled him a Flyweight.
The American Princess - Best Love Story Ever Page 1
