Want Free Books?
Amanda is giving away a standalone novel worth $2.99, FREE!
Tap here to get it!
Please Leave a Review
As an author, I so appreciate the feedback I get from my readers. It helps others make an informed decision before buying my books. If you enjoy the story you’re about to read, please spend a couple of minutes to leave a short review at the following link—20 words will do it. Just tap the image. Thank you!
Review on Amazon
More from Amanda!
Irresistible SEAL - A Military Romance
The overseas tours have taken their toll on Luke Carter and he dreams of life outside the military. Love, romance, his own space—maybe even a family he can call his own.
Fueled Obsession - A Bad Boy Romance
A bad boy with a need for speed... A good girl with a heart of gold.
Together, it’s the ride of a lifetime!
Oceans Apart - A British Billionaire Romance
He’s in London... She’s in L.A.
How do you hold on to love when you’re 5,000 miles apart?
Southern Heat - An Erotic Romance
A wild ride of lust, betrayal, white-hot passion and, ultimately, true love in this sizzling romance set in the Deep South.
Chapter 1
Carla
“Now I know why you asked to meet me here at Empanada’s.”
Selena Sanchez looked sullen behind her oversized, white sunglasses. Latin and exotic, she was beautiful, brilliant and until today—dependable.
“You figured I wouldn’t cause a scene, right?”
I slid off my sunglasses, if only to penetrate Selena’s shades with my laser-like bolts of rage. Selena smirked and reached for her sweaty mojito glass.
“I know you have a reputation to protect in South Beach,” my former assistant said without a trace of an accent.
“And you don’t?” I blurted, louder than I’d intended. Loud enough to get the attention of the real South Beach housewives dining at the next table. Their fingers dripping with jewels, dressed in the season’s finest designer clothes, their faces taut from one too many Botox procedures. They peered over at the patio table nearest Ocean Beach Boulevard and arched perfectly-manicured eyebrows.
“Not yet,” Selena replied. “Why do you think I’m taking my talents to Florida Faces?”
I flinched to hear my personal assistant—make that, ex-personal assistant—even mention the name of my closest competitor. I snorted, even louder this time as I reached for my own mojito.
Sure, it might only have been lunch, but now that my right-hand girl was leaving me, I knew it would be a long day, and an even longer night. At least I could have one last cocktail before I gave up any and all semblance of a personal life for the foreseeable future.
“You think Florida Faces is going to make you a model any sooner than I would, Selena?”
She was resolute. “That’s what Deacon promised me.”
I was incredulous. “Deacon Manchester would promise a turtle superhuman speed if it had something he wanted.”
Selena wriggled in her seat, sticking out her chest and puckering her lips. “Apparently, I have something he wants.”
I sighed, putting down my drink and trying to reason. “Listen, Selena. We had a plan, remember? Work for me, watch some fashion shows, learn the ropes, learn the business behind the camera, then we talk about putting you in front of it.”
Her tone was impatient. “I got tired of waiting.”
“You’ve worked for me for less than a year!” I said.
“A year I could have been modeling instead, Carla.”
Despite my shock at Selena’s betrayal, I resisted reeling off the many reasons she wasn’t model material. Was she beautiful? Yes. So were eighty-two percent of the patrons at Ocean Drive’s most popular Cuban restaurant, Empanada’s. Hell, so was ninety-two percent of the staff! So were ninety-eight percent of the bikini-clad bodies walking up and down the sidewalk in front of our patio table-for-two!
“Fine,” I relented, shoving away my uneaten steak and getting down to business. “Get me through this upcoming show with Sideline Sports. Bear with me for the next week, and I’ll sign you as a—”
Selena cracked a piece of ice from her drink and slid her glasses on top of her head of curly black hair. She had sizzling brown eyes and glowing caramel skin, a true beauty in a world of gorgeous. “Your desperation is showing, Carla.”
“No shit, Selena. I’m desperate because you’re screwing me over. No two weeks’ notice? Not even two days’ notice? What kind of person does that?”
“Don’t act so surprised, Carla. You’ve had to have known this day was coming for months now.”
“That’s just it, Selena. I had no idea. Jesus, we had dinner in my office last night like two girlfriends and now… this?”
Selena averted her eyes, scanning the sea of pretty faces at the popular eatery. When she returned her eyes to me, they were glaring. “You really need to get up to speed with tech, Carla. I was submitting resumés right under your nose.”
“Then shame on you!” I stood up, my anger getting the better of me. “Shame on you for using me just to get one rung higher up the ladder!”
Selena sat, shrinking into herself as the patio’s customers turned to witness the display. “Carla, please! People are watching!”
“Good,” I huffed, turning to admire her audience before fixing Selena with one last withering glare. “Let them hear what kind of a no good, petulant, spoiled, bratty, user of an employee you’ve been. You think word won’t get around about what you’ve done to me, Selena. You think South Beach is big? This is a very, very small town, darling, and if you keep stabbing people in the back long enough, you’ll never get ahead!”
I turned on my heels, my heart pounding, face burning, head spinning. The sad thing was, as passionate as my parting words may have been, even I knew they weren’t true. South Beach was a heartless place, and Selena had just proven that she knew how to play it far better than me.
Chapter 2
Kellan
I stood on the sidewalk, baking in the Florida sun. I knew I looked tight in my best white linen pants and a new, dark purple dress shirt. I’d opened two buttons to show off my broad, hairless chest—tanned to caramel perfection, of course. Mirrored sunglasses and my brand new, close-cropped haircut completed the effect of the quintessential South Beach stud.
Fat lot of good it had done me!
I turned around in my imported Italian leather loafers and sneered at the faux-modern exterior of the Platinum Poses Modeling Agency. Its oversized planters were filled with exotic palm trees on either side of plate glass doors that featured huge, chrome handles designed to look like crescent moons. Above the doors, in winking neon, glowed giant letters that spelled out Platinum Poses.
“Platinum Posers is more like it,” I growled to no one in particular as I snorted and shook my head, then hitched my leather portfolio under one arm and sauntered down Ocean Beach Boulevard toward Daisy’s Café. Nestled between Nestor’s Newsstand and Linda’s Laundromat, Daisy’s was a lively South Beach hot spot—loud, boisterous, colorful and convenient.
Daisy herself was behind the counter, as usual, and looked nothing like her name. She was in her late sixties, crusty as a three-day old pizza, with wire brush grey hair and a ready smile across her wrinkled face. Daisy had my order ready before I’d even reached the counter.
She winked as I approached, sliding the iced cappuccino across the counter. “Cash or credit, honey?”
I grabbed my chin dramatically, doing what I did best—striking a pose. “That depends. How good is my credit?”
Daisy rolled her eyes, pausing to bark some butchered Spanish curses at the delivery man who was making a mess in the kitchen. Turning back to me, she forced a well-meaning smile—it was an impression I was getting more and more used to, the longer I was out of work.
Her voice was as coarse as sandpape
r. “Honey, you know your credit’s always good here, but if you rack up much more, I’m going to have to make you start washing dishes to whittle down the bill.”
I sighed, smirking as she slid a complimentary biscotti across the counter to join my iced coffee, the first solid food I’d had all day. “I may just take you up on that offer if the job search doesn’t pick up soon.”
She shook her head. “You’re such a pretty boy, Kellan. Someone will pick you up soon. I just know it.”
“From your mouth to the male model god’s ears.”
She cracked a smile then croaked out something like a laugh. Regarding my crisp outfit dampened slightly by South Beach’s constant, raging and bitchy humidity, she smiled. “I see you out here every day hustling to find a new agency. Aren’t any interested in my favorite model?”
“None of the good ones, Daisy.”
She shrugged, wiping wrinkled hands on her green and white Daisy’ Café apron. “Bad ones pay the same, right hon?”
“Not hardly.”
Another shrug. “You think I pay Starbucks’ wages here, Kellan?”
I snorted. “Yeah, but at least you still serve coffee. In modeling, you either work for a reputable agency, or start doing online porn.”
She shrugged, like it was no big deal. “Hey, we’ve all done things we’re not proud of in our lives—”
She paused for a second, and then berated the delivery boy again before disappearing altogether. I sighed again, and slid a few crumpled bills across the counter for the tip, before drifting to the outside patio where several tall, metal tables without chairs encouraged convenience, but not loitering.
Bolstered by the quick carb fix from the biscotti and crisp, cold caffeine from the iced coffee, not to mention the life-giving shade, I opened my portfolio and considered my options.
Make that, option. As in…singular. After being let loose from my old modeling agency, Elite Physique, I’d hit the ground running. Hell, I’d had to. Sure, I’d made a mint before they unceremoniously dumped me, but I’d spent twice that much along the way—including my sweet new crib in Luxe, one of Miami’s hottest new condo developments.
But the job search had gone less than well. Wherever I went, I was like a pariah. The other modeling agencies in town all smelled blood in the water and the scandal that had cost me my Elite Physique contract was following me around town like an albatross around my neck.
I’d left no stone unturned in my quest to find a new modeling agency. Florida Faces. Bare Assets. Photogenix. They’d all turned me down, no questions asked.
Now all that was left was the newest agency on the block—a small outfit called Miami Models. It was in the Radiance Building off of Coquina Boulevard, not far from Daisy’s Café, which was ideal, seeing as the bank was looking to repo my car, so I’d hidden it at a friend’s until I could make my latest payment.
Well, make that two payments.
Or is it three?
Chapter 3
Carla
I stood, hunched over the Plexiglass desk in the reception area. It was mid-afternoon, my office was empty, and my heart raced as I tried for the umpteenth time to enter my password into the head-shot database.
The computer made the same ‘wonk’ sound every time it denied me, flashing the same irritatingly passive-aggressive message each time—‘Incorrect password detected. Please try again.’
I’d called the helpline number, but since Selena had apparently used her own information to open up the account with HeadShotStorage.com, I was currently persona non grata—and shit out of luck. I’d either have to start a new account or beg Selena for the information. So far, my ex-assistant wasn’t returning any of my dozen text messages—each more blunt than the last—or my half-dozen panicked voicemails.
Normally, it wouldn’t have mattered. I represented less than two dozen models—most of whom freelanced between my gigs—and averaged a few magazine shoots or local shows per week. But my biggest client, Sidelines Sports Apparel, was expecting a digital file containing all the models I had in mind before auditioning them on Friday. That left me only two days to figure out how to access my own damn files.
“Password problems?”
I flinched, gasping reflexively as I glanced up from the thirty-two-inch monitor on Selena’s old desk. “Jesus!” I blurted, too startled to keep my composure. “When…did you come in?”
The hunk on the other side of the desk flashed a perfect smile before sliding off his mirrored sunglasses with a practiced ease. “A few minutes ago. You seemed so frustrated—I didn’t want to disturb you.”
I arched my back, stretching my neck after another long, tense day in what was starting to feel like an endless string of them. “That’s one word for it.”
The sexy devil grinned, looking flawless in a fitted, dark burgundy dress shirt and clingy slacks that left little to the imagination. “Which one?” he teased. “Frustrated? Or disturbed?”
I laughed—a rare sound in the past seventy-two hours—the amount of time that had passed since Selena had stabbed me in the back over a Cobb salad at Empanada’s! “Both, at the moment.”
He nodded sympathetically, his eyes so bright they almost matched the color of the sky. He looked familiar, but then in this business, all the pretty young boys tended to blur into one homogenous, picture-perfect face after a while.
Sinking down into the desk chair after another long day on my feet, I fixed a smile. “Can I help you with something?”
He peered behind me to the larger office suite where I normally resided. That is, when my back-stabbing ex-assistant hadn’t sabotaged all my files. “Is your…boss here?”
I smiled. “I’m Carla, the owner of Miami Models. Can…I help you?”
The blush that crept across his cheeks might have been more prominent if his young, flawless skin wasn’t so gloriously bronzed from the sun. “Oh, well…” he stammered, and only when he moved to open it did I notice the leather portfolio he’d placed on his side of the desk.
“I was wondering if you had any openings.” He handed over a head shot, crisply colored, featuring his handsome young face headlining a Swiss watch ad.
Impressed, I turned it over to read his name. Kellan Montclair. So that’s why I recognized him. Sliding the head shot back onto the desk, I laced my fingers in front of my chest—a nervous gesture. He noticed. His handsome face crumpling slightly as he stood, anxiously, on the other side of the desk.
“Will you sit down?” I chuckled. “You’re making me nervous.”
“Not if you’re just going to give me bad news.”
“Suit yourself, Kellan.”
He sat anyway, sinking down into the white leather chair across from me and looking as tired and beaten down as I was. “So what am I?” I asked him, too tired to be my usual professional self. “Your last resort?”
His bashful smile, quickly gone though it was, confirmed my suspicions. “No,” he insisted anyway. “There’s still porn!”
We laughed, a feeling I’d almost forgotten in the last few days. “Look, Kellan, I wish I could help you out, but I’m a small firm, very, very selective, mostly because my clients come to me for clean, hot, wholesome models.”
His face wrinkled in denial. “Is there such a thing?”
“You’d be surprised. I do a lot of Christian catalog work, family magazines, sports apparel, private university catalogs.”
“Doesn’t sound very glamorous.”
I chuckled. “You said a mouthful, kid. But it’s a living and, more than that, it’s a start. So you can see how someone with your… criminal past… wouldn’t exactly appeal to my client base.”
He sighed, gripping the sides of the leather chair with white knuckles. “I was fourteen,” he insisted, the cockiness that had been on display when he’d teased me about my password alert, all but vanished. “It was a stupid, stupid mistake and I spent three weeks in juvenile detention. Three weeks. In juvie! This town is making it out like I go out at night in
a hockey mask murdering innocent fucking virgins!”
I snorted despite myself. Holding up a hand, I shook my head. “No, I’m not laughing, I’m just…look, we’ve all made mistakes. A few years from now, if my clients are less conservative, I’d be all over you.”
He smirked, at last, dipping back into his endless pool of confidence. “You’d be all over me as a person?” he teased. “Or my agent?”
I went to answer when, as if on cue, the password alert bleeped again... and again. It sounded like an alarm, then I realized I’d moved the wireless mouse over the ‘Enter password’ button by mistake.
He stood and approached me. Tall and regal, he looked flawless, almost breathless, in his crisp South Beach summer attire. A spicy scent, expensive cologne and perhaps a hint of strong coffee followed him as he came closer.
“What…what are you doing?” I asked, alarmed that his trajectory seemed to coincide with mine. Not alarmed that he was approaching me—alarmed at how excited I was about that fact!
Chapter 4
Kellan
I smiled at her sudden panic attack.
“Relax,” I said, admiring her auburn hair and deep, green eyes. I’d been too busy to indulge in anything even remotely resembling a relationship, and since it was my no good, twisted, spiteful bitch of an ex-girlfriend who’d found out about my stint in juvie and shared it with my former modeling agency, I’d been a little sour on girls of late.
But, Carla was a whole other animal altogether. She was no girl, for one, and instead looked to be in her mid-thirties, a good ten years older than me—but in all the right ways. Soft, where most of my lovers had been as stiff as a board. Full, where my women had all been flat-chested. Ripe around the back, where most of my flames had been bony and tight—she called up something in me that I hadn’t felt in a long, long time—desire. Actual, heart-pounding, palm-sweating, ball-throbbing, desire.
Forbidden: A Student Teacher Romance Page 10
