Blackout: A Romance Anthology

by Stephanie St. Klaire

  Eddie stood and caught Skye as she jumped in his arms. It wasn’t long before that turned into what they did best and they were sent inside to “get a room.”

  When Charlie met Cane on the grass, they stood toe to toe and just stared at each other. Her expression kept changing like she was trying to put every thought together at once and deliver it, but she couldn’t. Words evaded her. Overwhelming emotion left her speechless.

  “It’s over,” Cane said. “It’s finally over.”

  The sound of her sob ripped through the tough exterior the team surrounding them held. Each of the members standing in ear shot took a moment of pause and let her cry on the shoulders of a dozen men. They were the Keepers, brothers and sister in arms, not serving in the private sector for Brother’s Keeper Security. They were here to extract their asset, and instead, they were apprehending an international killer, their target. It wasn’t just their duty to serve in this way and support those in their circle, but it was their honor to do so.

  Cane held her as everyone looked on in solidarity. They saved one of their own today and freed their asset from a life on the run, all in the nick of time. They were each their brother’s keeper today, and because of that, they would all get to go home.

  When the armor truck left the premises with Anson in the back, the house that was busy with a team only moments prior went quiet as those who remained sat around a table in the kitchen and had a cup of terrible instant coffee.

  The lights came on, then their cell phones began to beep, alerting them service had been restored. Interesting timing, but they’d take it.

  “What’s next?” Dace asked.

  “Well, Charlie will remain under our protection until Anson is put to trial and eventually incarcerated in a super max prison where he’ll likely spend the rest of his days secluded in solitary. And these two,” he said to Eddie and Skye, “will be leaving Las Vegas to start a new life.” He winked.

  “And then—” Cane was cut off by the sound of a large explosion.

  Both his phone and Dace’s began to ring as they ran outside to see what had happened.

  “What do you mean it was hit? By what?” Cane asked. There was a long pause as he listened to the chaos on the other end, Dace likely getting the same relay. “I want a fucking head count, and everyone accounted for ASAP — use fucking DNA and fast track it if you have to. The extraction is under way.”

  Cane hung up. “The armor truck. It exploded or was hit by something. The tail team was a leg behind and didn’t see it happen, just saw what was left. It doesn’t look like any survivors, but they also can’t account for everyone on the transport team.”

  “Anson’s dead?” Charlie asked.

  Cane pinched his lips together. “We don’t know. They don’t even know who they’re looking at.”

  “Oh, God,” Eddie said.

  “Dace, you ready?” Cane asked, to which Dace nodded. “Eddie and Skye, you need to get out of here. Until Anson is accounted for, dead or alive, we assume the worst and you’re players now. Pick somewhere, anywhere in the world, but don’t tell me where. There’s a team cleaning out your room at the hotel. They’ll meet you at the airport where there’s a jet ready and a team to escort you safely.”

  “What? Just like that?” Skye asked. “But they said no survivors, right?”

  “Until I know exactly what happened or see a dead body with his name on the toe tag, I’m not taking any chances,” Cane said. “When we get the all clear, I’ll get word to you.”

  “But if we don’t tell you where…”

  “I’ll find you,” Cane assured. “Keepers always find other Keepers.”

  Eddie smiled, understanding the gesture. They were in this together, and despite how much Cane and Eddie butted heads, there was something between them now that couldn’t be broken.

  “Team one is here,” Dace called out from the doorway.

  “Go. That’s you,” Cane said.

  Skye hugged Charlie first, then Cane. Eddie followed suit, but opted for a fist bump when he got to Cane. “Until next time, brother.”

  Cane and Charlie watched them leave.

  “They’ll be okay, right?” she asked.

  “They don’t know it, but they’re assets now. They’ll have a team on them,” he said. “Go grab a bag. And take only what you need. Wear something comfortable. It’s a long drive and we’re taking back roads and staying off the grid.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “To Portland,” he said. “The only place I know I can keep you safe now.”

  “But—”

  “I told you I would never leave you,” Cane said, taking her face in his hands before kissing her urgently. “This is the next chapter of our story…”

  THE END

  ABOUT STEPHANIE ST. KLAIRE

  Stephanie St. Klaire is a Pacific Northwest native currently living in Portland, Oregon with her husband, five children, and two ferocious lap dogs that are used to the finer things in life like sleeping all day. When she isn’t writing, she can usually be found with a plate full of taco’s, a side of bean dip, and probably some gummy bears while being a little bit hippy and a lot bit busy mom’ing and wife’ing.

  When she’s not tossing around gritty crime show inspired serial killers and diabolical bad guys, she likes to make people pee their pants a little with a good romcom. Sometimes, her worlds collide, and she writes really funny stuff right before she kills people off on the pages! She loves murder and mayhem as much as a good laugh and HEA! That’s why she’s a die-hard Hallmark junky but loves her gritty crime shows – balance!

  Stephanie has always been a story teller, with the gift of “gab”, and a life-long goal to be a writer. Unfortunate circumstances with her health, finally afforded her the time to do so. Irony at its best, she began writing her first novel at an adverse time, to escape her circumstance and explore the stories in her imagination for relief. She is happy to share those stories with her readers, and bring a little fun, entertainment, and of course smexy characters to the pages.

  Follow Stephanie St. Klaire on Social media to learn more about her, how often she really eats taco’s, and to keep up with her work.

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  BOOKS BY STEPHANIE ST. KLAIRE

  ROMANTIC SUSPENSE – contemporary vibe with humor

  McKenzie Ridge

  Rescued

  Hidden

  Forgotten

  Fearless

  Redemption

  Brother’s Keeper

  Declan

  Liam

  Luke

  Dace – 2019

  Wylie – 2019

  Love, Cass (a contemporary romance novella)

  The Keeper’s

  Close Encounter – April 2019 Blackout Release

  ROMANTIC COMEDY

  DILF Diaries

  Oh Baby

  Faux-Mance Novels

  Liar

  Rumor Has It

  Sneaking Around

  Bed Buddies

  CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE

  Brother’s Keeper Novella

  Love, Cass

  Check out my website for more information about my books and upcoming releases, it’s going to be a bitchen year: www.stephaniestklaire.com

  THE DO-OVER

  By Christi Barth

  CHAPTER 1

  “Does it bother you to kiss a man with twelve million people watching?” The question came from out of the darkness behind the camera.

  Anda Weiss blinked against the harsh trio of stage lights trained on her. Then she blinked again, trying to buy a little time to figure out an answer that didn’t sound slutty or overly prim or out-and-out stupid. Nothing came to mind. Probably because over the last ten weeks she’d discovered that talking
directly into a camera was hard.

  Frustrated at the whole process, she twirled one long, dark wave of hair around her finger. For a second, Anda kind of wished it was her microphone cord wrapping around the neck of the bossy woman barking questions at her.

  The red record light on the camera blinked off. The regular overhead lights came on in the small, and more importantly for filming, windowless hotel catering office.

  Jenny Morton, whom Anda actually liked a whole bunch when not barking questions from behind the camera, drew her sandy blonde eyebrows into a frown. “Anda, quit playing with your hair. We talked about that. It makes you look brainless and indecisive.”

  “Gee, thanks for the pep-talk. I’m sooo motivated to bare my soul now.”

  Jenny walked around the tripod to crouch next to Anda’s chair. She stabbed at the bridge of her cat-eye glasses with one finger. “You know I’m only trying to help. Unlike most of the other women on this show, you’re smart and funny and have a future in front of you that doesn’t involve showing your boobs.”

  “Thanks. Now I feel a million times peppier.”

  Not really. A future where she got to keep her clothes on for a living was a pretty low bar. Jenny’s heart was in the right place, but she sucked at an inspirational speech. Not that it mattered.

  Jenny’s job was to conduct these “confessional” interviews with all of the women on the hit reality show, Man of Her Dreams. Getting the women to talk was the tip of the iceberg.

  Getting them to cry and curse was Jenny’s real objective. She actually got a bonus for every three sobbing breakdowns achieved per week. The fact that she’d paused recording to help Anda not look bad said a lot about the unauthorized friendship they’d struck up during filming.

  After flipping off the overheads, Jenny hit record again. “Remember, the faster you answer these questions, the faster you can get back to the Man of Your Dreams.”

  Okay. The thought of rejoining the man with dark, Italian good looks, piercing blue eyes and muscles that wouldn’t quit turned out to be all the inspiration Anda needed to get her mouth in gear.

  She flashed a—hopefully—sassy smile. “Who says Chance DiMarco is the man of my dreams?”

  “I do. America does. And you do, by not quitting the show. You’ve survived ten rounds of cuts by Chance, three of Internet voting, a horrible jellyfish sting, and worst of all, sharing a bathroom with five other women. Nobody puts themselves through that unless they desperately want the guy. Which brings me back to the question: does it bother you to kiss a man with twelve million people watching?”

  If she opened up and answered honestly, this round of interrogation would end. So Anda closed her eyes and thought back to her first kiss with Chance.

  He’d broken tradition—and pissed off the producers of the show—by refusing to wear a suit. Said that if he had to make a first impression on thirty women, along with the viewers, he’d damned well make a truthful one. And he only wore suits to funerals and weddings.

  Anda couldn’t imagine any viewers complaining. He’d dried up the mouths—and moistened other parts—of every woman on the show the moment he stepped out from the French pavilion in the Denver botanical garden. They’d circled like sharks, waiting to take a bite out of him.

  Chance had paired jeans with a black vest over a grey shirt, unbuttoned enough to show off his crisply curling chest hair. Oh, and his sleeves were rolled up just enough to reveal the veins and deep tan of his muscular forearms. It was impossible that a stiff suit could have made him look a single notch sexier.

  She hadn’t expected to receive a kiss at that initial cocktail party. But she’d worried more than a few times in the run up to the first night of filming about what would happen if the casually cocky stuntman did decide to get physical.

  “I thought it would be weird.” Anda shook her head. She’d been sure it’d be worse than that. “Definitely awkward. Uncomfortable. That I’d worry about sucking in my stomach, and whether or not our legs should touch, or how to react if he got all aggressive and tried to slip me tongue.”

  Jenny let out a sympathetic giggle. “And?”

  “And instead, it was pure magic.” Her eyelids drifted back open. Anda stared into the darkness, remembering how he’d pulled her behind a staircase and straight into his arms. “When Chance kissed me, I forgot about the cameras. No,” she corrected herself, “it was more that I wasn’t able to think about the cameras. Chance—his lips, our kiss, the surprising licks of desire that ran through me at his touch—became my whole reality.”

  The record light flicked off. “You do know how crazy you sound, right?”

  “Crazy about Chance, sure.” Anda slid off the chair and smoothed the hem of her tangerine tank over her matching capris. “Yes, it’s crazy to fall for someone this fast. But when it happens, it’d be even crazier not to hold tight and enjoy the ride.”

  A loud gasp came from the darkness. And the record light winked back on. “Oh my God, there’s been riding? You guys ‘did it’ already and we missed it somehow?”

  Anda couldn’t tell what Jenny was more worked up over. As a friend? That she hadn’t shared sexy secrets….or as a show staffer? Annoyed at having missed a potential ratings spike of an episode?

  Sometimes Jenny straddled the line between loyal friend and loyal crew member in a very hazy way. Anda tried to overlook it because the show would be over in two weeks. Then she’d go back to her normal life and there’d be no remaining conflict of interest for Jenny to work around.

  “No, of course not. You—and America—have seen everything there is to see.” How would secret sex even be possible? The contestants were miked and taped from the moment they woke up to lights out. Although Anda’s blood pressure spiked at imagining what it would be like to finally be naked with Chance. “No sex yet. I was talking about the wild and wonderful path I’m galloping down to falling in love.”

  “That’s a much less interesting comment,” Jenny grumbled as Anda opened the door.

  “Sorry,” she said over her shoulder. “I’m here to find the man of my dreams, not to keep you or America entertained.”

  “Your priorities are skewed. And in no way in line with the contract you signed.”

  Ordinarily, Anda would linger and chat until Jenny’s mood turned around. Cut off completely as she was from her friends back in Los Angeles for the duration of the show, Jenny’s friendship had been a bright spot amidst the unrelenting catfights with all the other contestants.

  But right outside the door stood Chance. One look at him was all it took to send every single thought flying from Anda’s mind. Lust fogged over her brain as she slammed the door shut behind her. Not that it gained her a speck of privacy. In the hall along with her sort-of boyfriend were a sound guy, two cameramen and the director.

  Anda gobbled Chance up with her eyes in great, greedy bites. His black curls were, as usual, a sexily tousled mess. One that her fingers craved to mess up even more. The black tee, with a faded logo of one of the hundreds of movies he’d worked on, stretched taut across his pecs and clung to his chiseled abs. Beneath black cargo shorts were long legs covered in dark hair. A few shiny white scars slashed around his left knee, and in two diagonal lines along his right calf.

  Chance laughed off the scars, called them set souvenirs, even though the accident that caused them had put him on leave for months from doing stunt work. Anda refused to dismiss his daily heroics so lightly. Instead, she saw them as badges of his bravery.

  “Hey, baby.” He extended an arm to pull her against his side. She fit snugly, like a puzzle piece. The same way each piece had a single possible correct fit, that was how perfectly Anda matched her curves and angles along Chance’s bulging musculature. “I missed you.”

  It thrilled her to hear him say that. Especially since they hadn’t seen each other at all yesterday. When he’d been on a date with a different woman. One whom Anda was quite sure didn’t fit Chance nearly as well.

  “Sorry. Duty�
�and Jenny—called.”

  Chance ran a finger down the bridge of her nose. It was a playful gesture that turned incredibly sensuous as that finger slid lower to trace the shape of her lips. “Did you spill any deep, dark secrets about me in there?”

  “Hardly. I don’t know any.” They were still learning about each other.

  It was kind of a miracle how much they had managed to share so far. Despite the ridiculousness of group dates. Not to mention super active dates like ziplining and a fake Wild West shootout where Chance taught them a few basic movie stunt moves. Because nothing encouraged intimacy and romance like having wires slam you backwards into a rubber mattress at ten miles an hour, right?

  Chance’s thick, black eyebrows waggled in an exaggerated leer. “You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

  He was so playfully sexy. Anda adored that side of him. It proved how much he wanted her, without any pressure. Chance let Anda—not his desire, and definitely not the pushy director or production assistants—set the pace for how physically intimate things got between them.

  “Are we still talking secrets, or something else?” She let more than a little suggestion and throatiness color her voice.

  Because while Anda was thrilled with Chance’s patience, she was becoming decidedly impatient to do more than the PG-rated cuddles they’d had so far in front of the cameras.

  “Your call.” Chance tucked his hand into the back pocket of her capris. They started walking down the hall, hip-to-hip. “While you decide, are you ready for our date?”

  Sooo ready. For their date… and a whole lot more. “I can’t wait.”

  ***

  “Are you sure it was safe for you to ride?” Anda hovered at Chance’s elbow as he pulled a blanket from the saddlebag.

  “Want to see my doctor’s note?” He offset the automatic irritation in his voice with a smile.