The Masked Lovebird

by Liz Stafford

  www.beautifultroublepublishing.com

  Copyright © 2011 by Liz Stafford

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including but not limited to: printing, photocopying, faxing, recording, electronic transmission, or by any information storage or retrieval system without prior written permission from the authors or holders of the copyright.

  This book is a work of fiction. References may be made to locations and historical events; however, names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and/or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), businesses, events or locales is either used fictitiously or coincidental. All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only.

  Published by

  Beautiful Trouble Publishing, LLC

  PO Box 61

  Colfax, NC 27235

  www.beautifultroublepublishing.com

  Cover Art: Les Byerley http://www.les3photo8.com/

  Editor: Barb Wilson

  Proofreader: Novellette Whyte

  http://authorgurunovellette.blogspot.com/

  Formatter: Jim & Zetta, http://www.jimandzetta.com/

  E-book Conversion: Jim & Zetta, http://www.jimandzetta.com/

  ISBN: (e-book) 978-1-61788-251-7

  This story is for everyone who’s ever been hurt in a relationship. Yes, there is hope.

  NOTE ABOUT EBOOKS

  eBooks are NOT transferable. Re-selling, sharing or giving away eBooks is a copyright infringement. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author or Beautiful Trouble Publishing.

  CAVEAT

  This work of erotica contains adult language and sexually explicit scenes, which are smoking hot. This book is intended only for adults, as it is defined by the laws of the country in which the purchase is made. Keep this book out of the hands of under-aged readers.

  Chapter One

  Devon Ainslee twirled in place, making the cape flow out around him. The clinic’s owners giggled. “Casanova, at your service.” With a grand flourish, he swept into a bow before them. And fell on his face. The giggling cut short and they rushed to help him off the carpet. Tonya handed him his cane. Rianna clapped a hand to her mouth and cooed I hope you’re okay sentiments. He stuck a grin on his face, took hold of the cane, and set the scratchy paper mask back in place. It wasn’t the first time he’d fallen in front of them, but still, it was no less embarrassing. He straightened the cape and swiped a hand across his still-thick hair. Rianna took his right arm. Tonya his left.

  “Ladies, I can walk on my own,” he said.

  “Of course you can, but the clinic is sponsoring this event. We will make our grand entrance together,” Tonya said.

  “But I’m not a partner. I’m just a janitor.”

  “You’re part of the clinic.” Rianna planted a kiss on his cheek. She bent to check her reflection in the brass lamp on the table in the hotel foyer. “Oh God, why did I pick out a rabbit costume?”

  He hooked the cane over a forearm and covered it with the cloak. “You were thinking more logically than when you got me a Casanova costume. The greatest lover of all time? What were you thinking anyway?”

  “Would you believe it was the only one left?”

  “Nope.”

  “I don’t believe this pirate was the only one left that’d fit me either,” complained Tonya. “This is the last time I let you pick out costumes.”

  Not a problem for Devon because he would not be dragged into this again. Although the benefit was for a fantastic cause, animal rescue, he did not want to go. Did not. He hated the so sorry that injury ended your football career platitudes. Hated making inane conversation. Tonya jerked on his arm. He sucked in a stabilizing breath—he could do this; it was only for a couple of hours—then let it out slow. The partners urged him forward.

  “Good idea. Let’s get this over with,” Devon said.

  They stepped toward the open double doors where couples were already dancing to the sounds of an up-and-coming soft rock band from right here in LA. Gold and turquoise streamers wafted in the air-conditioned breeze.

  “I’ve been regretting that we chose a costume ball for the benefit,” Tonya said. “It would be easier to find a woman for our Devon if half the ladies weren’t wearing masks.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you, I—”

  “Yeah, yeah, no women. No dating,” Rianna said.

  “I don’t get it,” said Tonya, “if you don’t date, how do you release the pressure?” She made an obscene sexual gesture with her free hand.

  Devon pulled away from them and stepped into the brilliantly lit ballroom. “I’m not hanging around to let you embarrass me.” He moved away from their amused laughter.

  The plan was to grab a drink, escape the party, and head out to the terrace where he could watch the other hotel-goers in the pool. They were always good for a few laughs. And he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. He peered between dancers and over tall shoulders and located the bar at the other side of the room.

  Devon appreciated his boss’s attempts to marry him off. Seemed like lately everyone at the clinic had found someone. The football accident had taken more than the flexibility of his left leg. It had taken his confidence and, to a huge extent, his libido. Every time he thought about sex, he thought about his horribly disfigured leg, and whatever urge had come…went.

  The weather was glorious. Stars twinkled in a navy blue sky with only a few clouds to mar the beauty. The landscaping was perfect, palms in a half-dozen varieties circled the mosaic-tiled patio. Dozens of tables and lounge chairs were full of happy people—more than half of them women dressed in scanty outfits. Except one woman in a Cinderella costume. He’d passed her on his way out. She was hiding in the shadows near the door. Yeah, he could really identify with the sentiment. He couldn’t see her now, not unless he turned and made his attention obvious. And it was clear she wanted to be alone. Devon smiled—birds of a feather.

  Oh crap. He’d had women, lots of them, but didn’t keep anyone around long enough to get serious. Devon had focused on his career, figuring he could settle down after football was over. Everyone knew a sports career didn’t last forever. He planned to appreciate it, and the money, as long as it came in. Besides, it wasn’t fair to leave a wife and kids home waiting.

  Devon sighed. It sounded good and noble, but it was all an excuse. The simple, unvarnished truth was that the idea of loving someone that much—well, it just wasn’t in his makeup. Diving that far into a relationship was like plunging off a cliff without a parachute. You only got hurt when you hit bottom.

  He backed into the shadows, out of sight, sipping on champagne.

  “Ouch! You stepped on my foot!”

  The woman’s legs buckled and she went down in a heap of lace and crinoline with the weight of the two-hundred pound Casanova on top of her. The force squeezed the air from her lungs in a long whoosh.

  “Oh, God. Sorry. Sorry.” Devon wrestled himself off the vanilla and lavender-scented woman. He braced his bad leg beneath him and pulled her upright. She straightened her dress, fluffed her hair and sent him a sheepish look—as though she’d been the one to bump into him.

  Her mask had fallen on the floor. He bent to pick it up and handed it back.

  Her brilliant green eyes widened in horror. She elbowed around him, her shoulder catching his as she darted into the building. For the second time tonight, Devon toppled over.

  Chapter Two

  Fiona Michaels burst into the ladies room, startling two w
omen standing at the sink. She threw herself into one of the stalls and slammed the door. Oh gosh. It had almost happened again—she’d seen a great looking guy. He looked lonely. He looked approachable. She could go out and talk to him. The mask was in place. She could do this.

  Her luck hadn’t take a turn for the good when, as if reading her mind, he turned and started toward her. He was going to initiate a conversation!

  When he stepped on her toes, the whole night went to hell. Not that it hurt. He’d scrabbled to keep her from falling down, and gotten a good-sized handful of breast. They’d gotten into a tangle of limbs and tumbled to the brick patio, with him on top. All this would’ve been okay if she hadn’t got to her feet and realized the mask was gone. And he was staring at her face.

  She just had to run. The way he stared, it was clear he’d seen her scar. The next thing would be questions that’d range from, “Oh my God, what happened to you?” to “I’m so sorry. You are such a pretty lady.” Translation—You would’ve been pretty if...

  Maybe even worse was the instantaneous attraction she’d felt for the blond man. Stupid. She knew how it would go. They’d chat over a couple of drinks, have a great time—and then he’d expect the mask to come off.

  Oh, why had she come here?

  Somebody knocked on her door. “Are you all right in there?”

  Of course she was all right, what business was it of theirs? “Yes. Thanks. I’ll be right out.”

  “It’s just that you rushed past so fast, I thought something might be wrong.”

  Must be one of the women she’d frightened near the sink. “Thanks. I’m fine.” She waited till the woman left the room and leaned against the cool, metal separation.

  So, why had she come? One reason: it was an animal rescue benefit. Normally she’d mail a check and be done with it. But she could hardly refuse the personal invitation from the vet clinic. They’d been so good with her Fischer’s lovebirds; not many vets treated birds.

  How on earth could she get out of here? That man had her mask. She unlatched the door and stepped out to the sink. If she arranged her hair just so, maybe she could hurry past and nobody would notice.

  Fiona eased open the ladies room door and shuffled into the hallway. Didn’t seem like anyone was around. The party was in full swing to the right. To the left, a sign at the end of the hallway shouted EXIT in big red letters. With her luck she’d end up near the dumpsters out back, but it was a chance she was willing to take. She shifted the chain to the tiny purse higher on her arm and moved toward the door. Fiona wondered briefly if an alarm would go off when she pushed it open, but heck, she’d be gone quick enough, nobody would know she was the culprit.

  She put a hand on the bar that opened the door and sucked in a breath of courage. Somebody entered the other end of the hallway. Any moment they would ask where the hell she thought she was going, so Fiona shoved open the door and hurried outside.

  And bumped into something solid, earthy scented and…male. THE male.

  Fiona spun around, intending to race back inside, but the door had an automatic lock. It was shut tight. Didn’t really matter, he had hold of her arm and was turning her around.

  Okay, it was dark here, and her hair had fallen over her forehead. Fiona threw caution to the wind, jerked her arm free, clasped his cheeks with both hands and pulled him down for a kiss. Lips met. Touched. Melded into each other. His arms came up. Any moment he’d send her sprawling on the filthy alley ground so she planned to make this a good one.

  His hands gripped her upper arms. Fiona prepared herself to be thrust backwards.

  Her tongue poked between her lips.

  His hands squeezed and his fingers made little dents.

  Her tongue pushed into his mouth. Shivers darted down her spine.

  His hands let go, then reached around her and palmed her back.

  She leaned into him and felt the breeze blow the cape around her like a cocoon. Her breasts flattened against his chest. Her nipples grew like seedlings in the spring sunshine. Pulsations of desire belted her in the abdomen. Moisture dampened her panties.

  Okay, this was wrong on so many levels.

  Then why didn’t she pull back? Run away…

  Chapter Three

  Devon was baffled. This woman was a contrast of emotions. Cold and then hot. No, scratch that, she was frigid and then boiling. Arctic and Death Valley. He should dump and run. Her tongue pushed inside his mouth—sent tremors to his groin. Should dump and run. Operative word should because the next thing she’d probably be biting his tongue off. Hadn’t a boxer done that recently? No, dumb ass, he bit off an ear.

  Cinderella ended the kiss. At least she’d backed away. So, why could he still feel her lips on his? She smiled. Goosebumps shot from where her hands touched his cheeks to every pore and cell in his body.

  “I am Cinderella.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “I live here in LA.”

  “Good start.”

  “I am single. I have two sisters and two parents.”

  “Keep going.”

  She didn’t flinch. “I enjoy painting landscapes, hiking and er…bowling.”

  “Apartment or house.”

  “Apartment.”

  Me too. “Car?”

  “None. I take a taxi most everywhere.”

  Same here. “Pets?”

  “Two pairs of lovebirds.”

  Devon’s interest skyrocketed. “What kind?”

  “Fischer’s.”

  Awesome. “I have six masked lovebirds. I had a clutch of four born yesterday.”

  “Mine are still young, but I plan to breed them.”

  Devon crashed headlong…into love. “Real name?”

  “Your turn.”

  “Well, Ms. Turn, why don’t we find ourselves a place to sit.”

  They strolled around the building to where a dozen or so people still frolicked in the pool. He followed her to a shadowy table. She sat. He didn’t. “I’ll get us drinks. What do you like?”

  “Something sweet, please.” She giggled. “With an umbrella, if they have any.”

  “Your wish is my command, dear lady.” With a flourish of his cape, Devon headed inside. He placed the drink orders, then went to get something to eat. Unsure what she liked, he piled a plate with sweet goodies.

  She giggled again when he set the plate on the table. Usually he hated women who giggled, but hers was pleasant, natural.

  They ate, drank and talked—about their birds, their jobs and where they went during vacations. The next time he surfaced to reality, the pool area was vacant. The band entertaining had stopped. He and Fiona were alone with the full moon, the stars and the cicadas. As Devon pushed up his sleeve to check the time, a clock somewhere inside chimed. Fiona counted the dongs out loud. When she got to eleven, he said, “Cinderella. Please don’t tell me you turn into a pumpkin at midnight.”

  “Not that I know of.”

  As number twelve chimed, he leaned in and kissed her, softly at first. He was assaulted by the same tingles as earlier. Her hand found its way to his thigh. Fingers squeezed.

  He laid his right hand on her left arm. Slid it down, inch by inch. Let it drop to her lap.

  Her hand edged higher.

  He raised his hand. Feathered his fingertips across her breast.

  Pressure on his thigh increased.

  Pressure in his pants soared, throbbed, ached. He wrapped his fingers around her breast—small, but round and taut, with a tight little nipple poking against the silky fabric of the gown.

  Devon leaned back to gaze at her. So pretty; such brilliant green eyes. Her dark hair had fallen across her face. A strand went up his nose when he inhaled, so he smoothed it away from her face.

  Fiona gave a sharp intake of breath and leaped out of the chair. It clattered against the wall, tumbled backwards, rolled once and splashed into the pool. Devon chuckled and went to retrieve it. When he returned, Fiona had disappeared.


  Chapter Four

  Four blocks from the hotel, Fiona was finally able to hail a cab. She flung herself into the backseat and huffed out her address. The taxi zipped into traffic, heading back toward the hotel.

  Oh shit. Casanova, AKA Devon Ainslee, stood out front, cape swirling around his awesomeness as he turned first left, then right. Clearly he was looking for her. Fiona brushed away tears and sank back into the seat. She’d known it would turn out this way. What she hadn’t known was that she’d fall for him.

  No! Not possible. She didn’t believe in love at first sight. Did not.

  Weeks passed. Fiona couldn’t get her mind off Devon Casanova Ainslee. But she had no idea how to contact him. He’d said he lived in LA, so she checked the phone and internet listings. Nothing on anyone named Devon Ainslee, except some football player, which couldn’t be him. He’d said he worked at a vet clinic as a janitor. But what was she supposed to do, phone every clinic in LA—the internet said there were two million listings. So, Fiona settled for buying a mated pair of masked lovebirds. At least the pleasant little creatures kept her thinking of him. And since they were already an established pair, they were eager to begin nesting. She rushed home from work every day to see if they’d laid their first egg. But this day, the female lay huddled in the corner of the cage.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God, don’t let her die. Fiona took a moment to catch her breath and peer at the little one. Eyes bright. She looked like she was in pain. Okay, good. Chances were she was egg bound. Fiona knew this needed to be alleviated but could not recall what to do. She phoned the vet and soon was in a cab zipping her way to the nearest clinic, her heart pounding faster than the night she made out with Devon in the shadows near the swimming pool. Okay, she had to stop thinking about that. It was a page in the past, and definitely not a way to calm herself.

  She poked a finger through the bars on the travel cage and patted the top of the bird’s head. The cabbie let her out in front of the door. “Want me to wait, lady?”