by Anthology
Thomas didn’t seem to take that last piece of advice too well, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.
Alex stood. “I really should be going.”
“No,” Kandice insisted. “You haven’t told us about last night.”
“Yes,” Jacklyn agreed. “We want all the juicy gossip.”
“Girls,” their mother warned.
Alex gave them a hard look and left the room. Amanda caught up with him in the formal dining room. “Please come and spend Christmas with us tomorrow.”
“I’ll be at my sister’s.”
“The whole day?”
“I’m not sure.”
“If you have a few minutes, we’d love to have you.”
He smiled and thanked her for the coffee. As his hand touched the doorknob, Laura walked down the staircase wearing a bright red sweater and tight jeans.
“Had all you can stand for a day?”
“No, I have a few things to do.”
“Alex Sanders, you’re a liar.”
“No, there are a few items I need to purchase.”
She crossed her arms and stood in front of him. “Are you going to take my mother up on the offer and come by tomorrow?”
“I don’t know.”
And he didn’t. Like so many times before, he wasn’t sure the offer was real. If Laura didn’t want him there, then Alex didn’t want to play the fool.
She rose on her tiptoes and gently kissed his lips. The instant they touched, his body reacted in a way he’d never imagined. He put his arms around her and pulled her tight against him.
He slanted his mouth, savoring the delicious taste of her. With her body against his, he wanted to melt into her and be one.
She broke the kiss, gasping for breath. Looking into his eyes, she smiled. “That’s your Christmas present.”
“Good,” he smiled. “I got the same thing for you.” He lowered his mouth to hers and realized that Christmas really was a magical time at the Twisted Sisters’ house.
About the Author
For as long as she can remember, Geri Foster has been a lover of reading and the written word. By the seventh grade she had worn out two library cards and had read every book in her age area of the library. After raising a family and saying good-bye to the corporate world, she tried her hand at writing.
To her surprise, she won a couple of contests, hooked up with a really great critique group and her writing career was well on its way. She spent several years studying her craft and developing her voice.
Action, intrigue, danger and sultry romance drew her like a magnet. That’s why she had no choice but to launch her published career with action-romance suspense. While she reads every genre under the sun, she’s always been drawn to guns, bombs and fighting men. Secrecy and suspense move her to write edgy stories about daring and honorable heroes who manage against all odds to end up with their one true love.
To keep the serious side of life at bay, Geri likes to write sexy short stories for her fans. In the Women of Courage series, Geri explores the deeper, darker nuances of life and relationships in small-town mid-century America.
Books By Geri
Accidental Pleasures Series
Wrong Room
Wrong Guy
Wrong Plan
Wrong Bride
Wrong Holly
Falcon Series
Out Of The Dark
Out Of The Shadows
Out Of The Night
Out Of The Past
Out Of The Depths
Women of Courage Series
Love Released 1-5
www.gerifoster.com
Yes, You
by Tammy Falkner
Copyright © 2015 by Tammy Falkner
Yes, You
E-Edition
Night Shift Publishing
Cover design by Tammy Falkner
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
For Sheri, since she asked me for this one.
Chapter 1
Madison
He leans against the side of the building with a cigarette dangling from his lips. His boots are crossed at the ankles as he leans against the brick wall. Scrunching up one eye to keep the smoke out, he looks almost unapproachable, and the thought of actually going up to talk to him scares me to death. Yet, I’m going to do it anyway.
He comes out here every day and sneaks a cigarette, glancing furtively left and right like he’s afraid someone will see him.
I see him.
I see him everywhere I go, it seems.
He doesn’t really fit in here, with his tattoos and his perpetual bad attitude. I know from class that he would rather grunt than speak in full sentences. And people let him, mostly because they’re afraid of him. But the only thing I’m afraid of…
Well. The only thing I’m afraid of is that I won’t get to meet him. That he’ll turn away and refuse to talk to me.
I take a deep breath and start in his direction, but just as I do, he drops his cigarette butt to the ground, grinds it under the heel of his boot, and then he throws his backpack over his shoulder and starts walking in the other direction.
He’s walking away. Seriously?
“Excuse me,” I call to his retreating back. I sound like I swallowed Kermit, so I clear my throat. “Excuse me,” I call again. I run to catch up with him and tug on his backpack. He looks back over his shoulder, but then he keeps right on walking. “Wait!” I say, trying to keep up. “Damn it, would you stop?”
He stops very quickly and I slam into his back. He rocks forward and I grab onto his pack to stay upright, feeling like I have two left feet. I am usually more graceful than this. My mother would kill me if she saw me right now, making a public spectacle of myself in the quad.
He turns, grabs me by the shoulders and steadies me, then he bends down to look into my eyes. His are bright blue and full of questions. “Are you all right?” he asks, his voice gruff. I’ve never heard him do more than grunt in class, so hearing him make a full sentence, albeit a short one, is startling.
“I’m fine,” I gasp, a little winded from chasing him. “You’re really fast.”
He grins. “Sweetheart, you haven’t seen fast.”
My heart skips a beat. I am in such big trouble. I don’t know why I thought I could approach a man like this, but I did, and now I don’t know how to ask for what I want.
“Cat got your tongue?” he asks. A grin tips one corner of his lips. He’s pretty enough to take my breath away. His blond hair flops across his forehead and he shakes his head to swing it back from his eyes.
I open my mouth to speak, but only a squeak comes out. He looks around the quad, looking behind me like he’s trying to figure out where the hell I came from.
When he sees that no one is chasing me, he takes my shoulders in his hands and gives me a gentle squeeze, bending so he can stare into my eyes. “Hey,” he says softly, like I’m a stray dog he’s trying to trap. “Are you okay?”
I thrust out my hand. “Madison Wentworth,” I say. “I just wanted to introduce myself.”
His eyes narrow and he stares at me, but he doesn’t stick his hand out to shake mine. I let mine hang there in the air between us until it becomes so heavy with disappointment that I have to tuck it into the pocket of my jeans.
“Guess not.” I sigh. “I’m very sorry for taking up your time.”
“Which one of those fuckers put you up to this?” he asks. He grinds his teeth as he waits for my response.
&nb
sp; “What?”
“Those frat boys you hang out with, the ones with more money than sense. Which one put you up to this?” He glares at me.
“No one put me up to this,” I say.
“Listen, sweetheart,” he says, his face very close to mine. I can smell the cigarette he just smoked and the coffee he must have had before it. “You don’t want to mess with a man like me.”
“Okay,” I whisper. I clear my throat. “Fine. Have a nice day.”
I am one hundred percent ashamed of myself. I had imagined that going so differently. I had imagined him being devastated by my…well, by me. But he isn’t. He just looks at me like I’ve gone off my rocker. And maybe I have.
I turn to walk away, my feet heavy as leaden weights. Trudging across campus never took me this long before. I walk toward my car and pop the trunk, tossing my backpack inside. I stand there staring down.
All my life, I have gotten everything I ever wanted. I have a mother and father who are incredibly successful. We live in a big house in upstate New York where my parents own a horse farm. I’m attending this prestigious college and I don’t have to worry about anything. To everyone looking on, I have it all.
But no one knows how very lonely I am. No one knows that my parents work every minute of every day. No one knows that I’m having trouble fitting in at school. I work really hard to hide my need for more. More what? I have no idea. But I need more.
I don’t know why I thought I’d find it by befriending Bob Caster. Bob Caster, the bad boy. Bob Caster, the dreamy man who makes me want to ask him a thousand questions and just sit back and listen to the answers. Bob Caster, who, although he is incredibly poor—you can tell by the quality of his clothes and shoes—probably has more than I do. He probably even has friends. Real ones. Not just the ones who want to be around me because I can buy the shots.
The rev of a motorcycle behind me jars me out of my pity party. The pavement rumbles under my feet.
“Hey, you,” a voice calls out.
I turn to look, and find Bob Caster perched on a gleaming motorcycle with wide, shiny handlebars. I point to myself and ask, “Who? Me?”
“Yes, you,” he says. He squints at me like he’s trying to look inside me. I cross my arms under my breasts to block his piercing gaze, and his eyes drop down to my boobs. He licks his lips ever so slowly, and then his eyes travel back up. Heat creeps up my cheeks, but I refuse to fidget on my feet. I stare straight at him. “You want to take a ride with me?” he asks. He revs the bike.
I point a finger. “On that?”
He grins that sideways grin again. “Well, I wasn’t offering my personal services.” He glances down at his button fly, and then he laughs. He runs a hand lovingly down the shiny chrome handlebar, his touch reverent and respectful. “Of course on this.”
I point to the center of my chest and then at the bike. “You want to take me for a ride on that?”
He stares at me.
I finally let that feet fidget thing happen and want to kick myself. “Is it safe?”
He shakes a cigarette out of a pack and takes his time lighting it. He inhales deeply and holds it for a moment. Then he blows it out and says, “I won’t let you get hurt.”
I look at my car and then at him. He revs the engine again.
“Where are we going?”
“For a ride,” he says with a shrug.
“When will we be back?” I step closer to him and his eyes light up a little. And I like it.
“When we get done.”
Be still my heart.
He flicks his cigarette into the grass. “Are you coming or what?”
“Okay,” I say.
He looks surprised. “Yeah?”
“Yes.”
He takes the helmet off his head and holds it out to me. I pull my ponytail free and tug the helmet on. He reaches out to buckle the strap for me, his fingers gentle. “How old are you?” he asks, his voice strong but quiet.
“Nineteen.”
“Good.” He grins.
He motions for me to climb on behind him and I do, my thighs spread around his hips. He lifts my feet and shows me where to put them.
“Why is that good?” I ask close to his ear.
He looks back over his shoulder. “Because I don’t want to go back to jail.”
He doesn’t wait. He hits the gas and I shriek as we take off through the parking lot and onto the open road. He reaches back with one hand and puts my hand on his waist, and I automatically follow with the other. I hold on tightly to the man who just told me he doesn’t want to go back to jail, and I wonder what the heck I just got myself into.
Chapter 2
Bob
I have to be the dumbest son-of-a-bitch who ever walked the face of the earth. I have Madison Wentworth on the back of my bike. Her father will kill me if he catches us, and I can’t force myself to care.
Yes, I know exactly who Madison is. She’s the daughter of a local judge and his power-lawyer wife. I’ve met them both. In the courtroom. When they sent me to jail.
I’m in deep shit.
But I can’t say that I’m not enjoying it. She’s pretty much wrapped around me, her hands fisted in my shirt, her front pressed against my back. Every now and then, she adjusts her bottom and presses close to me.
I take a turn way too sharp and she squeals, wrapping her arms so tight around my middle that she grasps her hands together in front of my belly. I cover her hands with one of mine and she takes a breath behind me. It makes me feel like she trusts me…and I almost feel the need to warn her not to do that.
We have been riding for about an hour and we never really talked about how long I could keep her. Keep her? Oh, I am so fucked. I don’t keep women. I fuck them and then I put them back on the shelf so some other sad fuck can take them and fix their broken hearts. Relationships are messy and I’ve never wanted to spend time with anyone enough to even consider one.
Until today.
I pull over, because I should probably ask her what time she needs to get back to school. What if she has plans? What if she’s already ready to go back?
I kill the motor on my bike and it rumbles to a stop beneath us. I look back over my shoulder and find her smiling a big, goofy, breathtakingly beautiful smile at me. My heart stops as I look into her eyes.
“Why did we stop?” she asks, her breaths falling heavy and harsh, like she has been jogging. She bounces on the seat and a laugh bursts from my throat.
When was the last time I made a sound like that? I can’t remember, and I get a little dizzy at the peaceful, happy feeling that settles over me.
“Why did we stop?” she asks again, tapping my arm with the palm of her hand. It’s a happy, expectant move.
“I thought maybe we could talk,” I tell her.
She goes still behind me. “Oh.”
I look back at her. “You don’t want to talk?”
She smiles at me. “Talking is good.” Her voice is suddenly gruff and full. “Should we get off?”
I nod at her.
We’re parked beside a lake and it’s nearly dark out, so only a few people are here.
She points. “Want to go sit on the dock?” She climbs off the bike and the warmth of her body goes with her. I don’t like that. Not even a little. She starts toward the dock without even looking back in my direction.
I scramble to follow her. Her shoes squeak on the planks and I watch her ass sway. She’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt, typical college-wear. A purple Swatch watch is on her slim wrist. Her sandy-brown hair hangs in a heavy, tangled mess down her back, and she doesn’t seem to care.
“You’re really beautiful,” I blurt out. I cringe when she stops, turns to face me and smiles at me. My belly clenches and my dick notices how much I like her.
“Thank you,” she says as she sits down on the end of the dock. She tugs her shoes and socks from her feet and shoves her socks inside the shoes. Her bare toes peek up at me and she sighs as she dips them in the
water. She leans back on her palms and tips her face up to the sky. “Thank you for bringing me here,” she says without even looking at me. She breathes in and out through her nose, slowly.
“Did you enjoy the ride?”
She smiles and nods. “I want to do it some more. Like, all the time. Every day. All day.” She giggles and I find myself grinning with her.
With me? Or does she just mean riding? I am afraid to ask.
“Why did you come with me?” I ask instead.
She tips her face toward me. “Because you asked me.” She snorts and then giggles. “Even though you only did it because I chased you down in the quad. I nearly tackled you.” She winces. “Sorry about that.”
“Best thing that’s happened to me all day,” I say. Shit. Did I say that out loud? I sit beside her on the dock.
“Me too,” she says quietly. She looks down at my boots. I’m holding them out over the water. “You should take your boots off. Stick your feet in the water.”
“Why?” I don’t understand why she’s so excited to get her feet wet.
She laughs. “Because it’s fun.” She taps my thigh. “Take them off.”
I shake my head.
She tilts her head at me like an inquisitive puppy. “Please,” she says. “Don’t make me sit here and feel funny being the only one with naked feet.”
I groan and pull my foot up, then tug my boot off. Then I repeat it with the other one and set the boots on the dock behind me with my socks stuffed inside.
“In the water,” she says with a fierce jab of her finger.
I hesitantly stick my feet in, and she laughs at the wounded look on my face when I realize how cold it is.
“Quit being such a baby,” she scolds with a laugh.
I gently palm the side of her head and give it a playful push. “Did you seriously just call me a baby?”
