by Lori Foster
“Jett?”
“Mmm…Natalie.” He tried to pull her closer, already kissing her shoulder, his hand sliding around to her stomach.
The man was insatiable.
She was so lucky.
“Buddy has to go out.”
Letting out a sigh, Jett turned to his back and managed to get his eyes open. He yawned, stretched and lifted up on an elbow to look at her. “Hey, beautiful.”
Very softly, Natalie said, “Hey.”
He lifted one brow then smoothed the sheet away from her breasts. “Didn’t I tell you that you wouldn’t need clothes?”
“You were mostly right.” Natalie swatted the sheet back down. “But if I had clothes, I could offer to take a turn with Buddy.”
“I don’t mind.” Jett patted her hip and rolled out of the bed. “Be back in a few.”
Skipping boxers and a shirt, he pulled on jeans, stepped into his shoes and grabbed his coat. Buddy, already well used to their routine, danced around him.
Jett hooked the leash to his collar. “He looks energetic this morning, so I’m going to walk him around the halls a little after he takes care of his business.”
“Want me to order room service while you do that?”
“Naked?” He gave her a mock frown. “Hell no. I’ll bring something back with me.”
And so it went. Natalie did little to nothing while Jett pampered her in the most outrageous ways. She was still in the shower when he returned. She heard him and started to turn off the water, but then the shower curtain moved and he stepped in behind her.
He kissed the nape of her neck and wrapped his strong arms around her. “Natalie?”
She put her head on his shoulder. “Hmm?”
“This is the best damn vacation I’ve ever been on.”
Shaking her head, she laughed and said, “You’re easy.”
Slowly, the grin slipped over his face. “I’ve had you all to myself all this time. It’s been perfect.” He set her back from him again. “But the damned snow has finally stopped and the roads are getting cleared. No way could we make it to the cabin. The side roads are going to be screwed for a while. But it looks like we could head back tomorrow morning, if that’s what you want to do.”
Only one more day alone with him. Natalie sighed. “I’ve loved every second here with you.”
“But you’re worried about your sister, right?”
“Yes.” Before getting in the shower, she’d checked her email account. “I got an email from her.”
“And? You don’t look happy about it.”
Far from happy, she was now more concerned than ever. “There was something wrong with the message.”
“What kind of wrong?”
“It was too brief, and far too cryptic to be from Molly.”
“What did it say?”
“Just that she’d be gone for a while, off having some fun for a change, and that she’d get in touch when she could.” Natalie shook her head. “That’s not her. She’d have told me where she was going, given me a way to get in touch with her.” Natalie chewed her lip. “If she was going to have fun, she’d want me to know about it.”
“The way you want her to know that you’re having fun now?”
Natalie nodded. It was so frustrating that she couldn’t reach Molly. And deep down inside herself, she knew something wasn’t right. “If you’re sure you don’t mind, I think we should head back.”
“Of course I don’t mind. If it was one of my sisters, I’d be the same.” His sexy mouth lifted into a grin. “Speaking of my sisters, they’re going to go even more nuts for you once they know we’re getting married.”
Natalie touched the middle of his chest then dragged her finger ever so slowly downward. Life was ready to intrude, but she still had today. “Guess I better make the most of our remaining time, then.”
“Sounds like one hell of a plan.” Jett closed his eyes when she circled her hand around him. “As long as you remember that our remaining time is forever.”
What kind of trouble is Natalie’s sister, Molly Alexander, in?
Find out in WHEN YOU DARE, the first of a sizzling new trilogy from Lori Foster and HQN Books.
Coming soon!
GAIL’S GONE WILD
Susan Donovan
This book is dedicated to all the bangin’-sick teenagers I’m blessed to have in my life.
I won’t embarrass you by printing your names.
Dear Reader,
“Rule number one is never, ever fall in love with a guy you meet on spring break….”
Gail Chapman may be the chaperone for her teenage daughter and friend, but after meeting Key West neighbor Jesse Batista—a sultry, sexy, earring-wearing sea captain with a big secret—Gail is the girl who’s gone wild.
This novella was inspired by a real-life trip with my teenagers to Key West. But hold off on those plane tickets. The only place you’ll find Jesse is right here in these pages.
Happy reading!
Susan Donovan
CHAPTER ONE
“BUT, MOM! HOW CAN YOU DO this to me?”
Gail Chapman looked up from her morning newspaper and into the angry face of her seventeen-year-old daughter, Holly. “The answer is no,” she said again. “There is no way on earth I am letting you go to Florida alone for spring break. Do you think I don’t know what kind of trouble a girl can get into down there?”
“But I’ll have Hannah with me!”
Gail tried to keep a straight face, but the idea that Holly’s best friend, the voluptuous Hannah Marko, would somehow provide a barrier between her daughter and disaster was laughable. The two of them were Thelma and Louise without a lick of life experience or a decent map. “I said no, and that’s my final decision.”
“God!” Holly stomped her feet like an enraged toddler. “I can’t believe you’d mess up my entire senior year like this! You’re ruining my whole life!”
“Actually, I’m helping you avoid that very thing.”
“Aaauuuggghh!” Holly balled up her fists. The veins and tendons stood out from her neck so much that Gail thought she looked like the Incredible Hulkette in size-three skinny jeans.
“The answer is no, Holly.”
“But you don’t understand—”
“Sure I do,” Gail said, calmly removing her reading glasses and folding her hands on the kitchen table in front of her. “I am not a shut-in, sweetheart. I know all the temptations the world has to offer.”
Her daughter made some kind of dismissive clicking sound at the back of her tongue before she said, “What-evs.”
Gail sighed.
“But Daytona Beach is perfectly safe, Mom!” Holly twirled around on her Uggs and flopped into the other kitchen chair. “There’s lifeguards, like, every ten feet down the sand! And police everywhere! And, you know, their whole economy depends on tourism, so, like, they have to make sure nothing bad ever happens to the spring-break kids because that would be bad PR and totally negatively affect their economy!”
Gail was impressed by her daughter’s logic, but it was all a load of bull and they both knew it. “The answer is no,” she said again, standing up and clearing away her breakfast dishes. As she rinsed them out in the sink, she felt Holly press close behind her.
“Please, Mommy?” Holly made the plea in her cutest, sweetest, little-girl voice. “No.”
“Dad would say yes!” Holly’s voice had magically regained its full measure of teenage torment. “If I lived with Dad, he’d let me go!”
Gail nearly choked as she placed her bowl and spoon in the dishwasher. Holly was right. Her dad would likely endorse any vacation that included alcohol poisoning, random disrobing and waking up in a stranger’s hotel room, since that was pretty much his preferred getaway. It was all a moot point, of course. Holly couldn’t move in with her dad anytime soon, since Curtis Chapman would be a guest of the federal prison system for another four years. And that was contingent upon good behavior, which had never been his stro
ng suit.
“No, Holly. That’s my final answer.”
“You’re being unreasonable! Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t be allowed to go!”
Gail turned. She put her hands on Holly’s upper arms and held her firmly. She looked right into her daughter’s big, beautiful brown eyes—a move that now required her to look up instead of down because her baby was about an inch taller than her. She spoke slowly and seriously.
“A terrible disease. An unplanned pregnancy. An auto accident. Being hit by a bus. Drowning. A shark attack. An unintentional starring role in the Sluts of Spring Break DVD available for $19.95 on the Internet.”
Holly’s mouth fell open.
“What?” Gail asked. “Did you think I’m some nerdy small-town English professor with no idea of what goes on outside of Beaverdale, Pennsylvania?”
Holly blinked. “Well…yeah.”
Gail kissed her daughter’s cheek, keeping her smile hidden. “I need to get ready for my nine o’clock class. You’ve got five minutes until the bus gets here.”
“But, Mom—”
“We’ll talk about it more this evening,” Gail said, heading toward her bedroom. “Maybe we can come up with some kind of alternative plan, okay? Maybe you and Hannah can do something fun a little closer to home.”
“Oh, right,” Holly said, grabbing her backpack and heading for the front door. “I can see it now—spring break in Amish Country! We could make cheese and go on buggy rides! Hey—you could be our chaperone, Mom! I can’t wait to tell Hannah! This spring break is gonna totally rock!”
“Bye, honey.” Gail got the words out just before Holly slammed the door behind her. She chuckled to herself as she pulled out a brown skirt and beige blouse from her closet, thinking that it wasn’t all that long ago that she’d tried the same thing with her own mom. And lost. Gail ended up spending her senior-year spring break in the backseat of Tommy Brancovicci’s beater 1981 Gran Torino, which, come to think of it, was nothing but a shark attack on dry land.
As she dressed, Gail ran through the day’s schedule in her mind. She taught her Intro to American Lit class at nine and her Honors Hemingway Seminar at two, with student conferences from ten-thirty to noon. She was meeting Kim for lunch—it had been far too long since she’d seen her best friend. And she had a department meeting at four and had to pick up the dry cleaning on the way home. Oh! And she should swing by the campus print shop for her new business cards, so she could proudly tell the world who she’d become: Gail Chapman, PhD.
She shook her head at the irony of it. The heck with Holly and Hannah! What did two impossibly young and free girls need with a vacation? Gail was the one who’d earned a spring break!
She froze. Holly’s sarcastic proposal began echoing in her head.
Chaperone?
Maybe her daughter was onto something.
GAIL PICKED AT HER CAESAR salad with a fork, trying to summon the courage to answer Kim’s question. “Well, it’s kind of embarrassing…”
Her best friend laughed. “Come on, Gail. I’ve known you for thirty of your thirty-six years on the planet. There’s nothing left to be embarrassed about. We’ve gone through sex, love, money, heartbreak, divorce, parenting, various career crises and Curtis’s embezzlement trial. How could your choice of vacation destination be embarrassing?”
Gail looked up at Kim and shrugged. “We’re talking my dream vacation, right?”
Kim nodded. “Right.”
Gail took a deep breath. “Well, the one place I’ve always wanted to go—you know, like my ultimate fantasy getaway—is Key West. And I figure now is the perfect time. The girls get their spring break and I get my trip of a lifetime.”
It took exactly one second for Kim’s face to go from excitement to stone-cold disappointment. She shook her head back and forth and closed her eyes. After taking a moment to compose herself she said, “Is this a Hemingway thing? Because if this is a Hemingway thing, I swear to God I’ll—”
“Not completely.”
Kim put her hand on Gail’s arm. “Key West is wild, honey. It’s the home of street parties and dangerous smugglers and all-you-can-drink booze cruises.”
“I realize that, but the girls would have restrictions and a curfew,” Gail said. “They’ll be heading off to college soon, anyway, and I figured this will give them a taste of freedom but with adult supervision.”
Kim looked dumbfounded.
“What?” she asked.
“I was referring to you, Gail.”
She waved Kim off. “Oh, you know I’d never let anything happen to me.”
Kim roared with laughter, drawing the stares of some of the other diners at their favorite lunch spot near campus. “That’s what I’m worried about, Gail—that you wouldn’t let anything happen to you, that a trip to Margaritaville would be completely wasted on you, that you’re going there solely for some kind of Ernest Hemingway geek-fest!”
It was Gail’s turn to laugh, and it felt good to laugh that hard. Kim’s reaction didn’t surprise her, and Gail couldn’t fault her friend. The whole idea did sound suspiciously work-related. But it was the truth—for as long as she could remember she’d been fascinated by the lore of Key West, the city’s wild and romantic history and, yes, its connection to the romantic Papa Hemingway legend. He’d written some of his best work there, after all.
“If I went to Key West I’d find a way to relax a little,” Gail assured her.
Kim sighed. The waiter came by to refill their iced teas, which gave her a chance to study Gail carefully until he was out of range. “I know what your version of relaxation is,” she said, a note of accusation in her voice.
“Books. Reading. And if you’re feeling like a really naughty girl, you’ll write notes in the margins.”
Gail giggled.
“That wasn’t intended to be funny.”
Gail rolled her eyes. She knew Kim meant well, and there was certainly a seed of truth to what she was saying, but this was all fantasy anyway. She had no idea if she could get a hotel room for herself and the girls at this late a date. She had no idea how much it would set her back. She had no idea if the girls would even agree to this plan. Most of all, she wasn’t exactly the world’s most spontaneous person, so this whole flight of fancy was way out of her comfort zone.
Yet, despite all that, Gail hadn’t been able to get the idea out of her head since getting dressed that morning. Something about it felt right. Maybe it was time she did something out of her comfort zone. Maybe it was time to live a little.
“You need to get out, Gail.” Kim took a gulp of her tea, as if fortifying herself to finish her thought. “You’re the poster child for deprived women everywhere. You need to go out and get funky on the dance floor. Have a couple cocktails with umbrellas in them. You need to enjoy the company of a handsome man of dubious character who makes your legs weak.”
Gail shook her head. “You know I’m only interested in someone who’s honest and loving. The rest of that stuff isn’t important.”
“Whatever you say,” Kim said, displaying the same doubtful look Gail got every time she swore off chocolate forever. Again.
“Perhaps I need to refresh your memory,” Gail said, stabbing at her salad with a little too much wrist action. “The last time I fell for a handsome man of mystery I got pregnant and ended up pledging my troth to Bernie Madoff Jr.”
Kim’s giggle turned into a sigh. “Fair enough,” she said, “but life isn’t over for you, Gail. Don’t cheat yourself like that. You’re still young. There’s a whole world out there. A whole world of men.”
Gail pretended to be fascinated with her romaine lettuce.
“How long’s it been since you had any fun?” Kim asked.
Gail looked up and answered matter-of-factly. “I went out for a beer with some of the other professors a couple of weeks ago.”
“Uh-huh.”
She groaned, realizing that Kim wasn’t going to let her off easy today. Her friend was well
aware that it had been two years since she’d had any kind of sex and six years since she’d had decent, meaningful sex, or at least what she’d told herself at the time was decent and meaningful. A few days afterward, Curtis admitted to his multiple fidelity “slip-ups” and expressed his desire to become her ex-husband. Soon after that, he was arrested for embezzling nearly two million of his investment clients’ dollars.
“Besides,” Gail told Kim. “I’m not sure how much weak-kneed dancing I’d be able to do. If I went to Key West I’d have Holly and Hannah with me, remember?”
Kim shrugged. “You could find a way. All you’ve done for the last five years is teach, work on your dissertation, raise Holly, worry about money and fall into bed exhausted at night, only to do it all over again the next day. You deserve to cut loose a little.”
Gail rolled her eyes. “Fine. Maybe you’re right.”
“Hell yes, I’m right!” Kim smiled, as though it was all settled. “Go have your spring fling in Key West, then. And I’m truly sorry I can’t get away from work to go with you. Do you think you can handle those two girls by yourself?”
“Of course I can,” Gail said. “The three of us will have a blast together.”
JESSE DOMINIC BATISTA cradled the cordless phone under his chin while he made his morning patrol of the cottage grounds. As he listened to his agent’s long-distance lecture on the importance of meeting deadlines at this crucial comeback point in his career, he scanned the small yard that fronted Margaret Street. In his left hand he clutched a plastic trash bag and a paper sack for recycling. He used his Playtex-Living-Glove-encased right hand to snag the empty beer bottles from the grass. As usual, they’d been tossed over his privacy wall during someone’s late-night stroll home from the Duval Street bars. Jesse opened the wrought-iron gate to scan the sidewalk for any trash, cigarette butts or the occasional condom wrapper.
It was official. Spring break had come to Key West.
