The Cinderella Obsession

by Carew, Amber

  "Gill, wait!" Her mother's words chased after her as she stormed past the secretary in the outer office and on past the elevators to the stairs. She shoved the door open and raced down the steps, not giving her mother time to catch up with her—and make her feel guilty.

  She tugged the clip off the back of her head and stuffed it in her jacket pocket, letting her shoulder-length hair tumble free, hoping this would help diminish her headache. The sound of her mother calling her name down the stairwell, and the answering echoes, only made her descend faster. Mother wouldn't follow her down the stairs and the elevators in this building always took forever to arrive, especially over lunch hour. If all went well, Gill would be able to escape the building without having to face Mother.

  * * * *

  She wasn't gorgeous, but she was dependable. Cade sighed as he unlocked the door of the beat-up old pickup truck his friend, Luke, referred to as Old Blue and tossed the documents he'd been carrying onto the passenger seat. Thank heavens Luke had handed over the keys, albeit reluctantly, when Cade found his car blocked into the driveway by the moving truck.

  The door creaked on rusty hinges. Cade climbed inside and slammed the door shut behind him. The clomping sound echoed through the underground garage of the large office building. Shoving the keys into the ignition, he glanced out the windshield in time to see a flurry of red fabric and long black hair swirl by. The woman's spike heels hit the ground with a force that could split concrete. Her eyes blazed with unsupervised anger and her cheeks matched the color of her suit. If she'd been a cartoon character, the artist would have shown steam blowing out her ears and drawn her with the body of Jessica from Roger Rabbit—long legs, a trim waist, and ample curves in all the right places.

  "Incredible," he murmured to himself. His mouth stretched into a smile as he watched her stomp across the parking lot to a luminescent yellow Neon. "Lord, I wouldn't want to get in her way."

  He turned the key in the ignition and the truck roared to life. Or more precisely, sputtered. Shoving the gear stick into first, Cade coordinated the gas and clutch pedals to negotiate the vehicle into a smooth acceleration. All went well as he shifted to second, but as he entered the ramp to the next level, the engine faltered—and died.

  Cade turned off the ignition and tried starting the truck again. Nothing happened. Not even an encouraging chug.

  "Great." Cade shifted to neutral and tugged on the hand brake then climbed out.

  He stood staring at the vehicle for a few moments, thinking, then kicked the tire. It didn't do much good, but it made Cade feel better. If only he knew something about engines.

  But Luke had always been the one to get his hands dirty. Cade had pursued more intellectual endeavors.

  He scratched his head. Maybe if he opened the hood....

  A sharp peeping sound snatched his attention to the car that had pulled up behind him. When he saw the yellow Neon with the lady-in-red glaring at him from inside, a grin tugged at his lips.

  This could get interesting.

  Virgin Wizard

  by Amber Carew

  When Lucinda receives The Call to mentor a brand new wizard, she is overjoyed. It should be impossible for her to be called, but who is she to question Destiny? Since The Call always occurs at birth, she is shocked when she goes to see the child and finds a full-grown—and quite naked—man. With amnesia.

  Lucinda may be the stronger wizard, but somehow this man takes control of every situation. How does he manage to be so utterly domineering, so overwhelmingly masculine, and yet so incredibly irresistible?

  As if this isn't enough to shatter her usual self-assurance, her long-time friend and mentor, Randalph, appears and warns her that he knows this man, whose name is Nyte, and he is extremely dangerous.

  Excerpt

  April in Paris. Charming. Why did she always wind up in these wonderful places when she didn't have time to enjoy them?

  A couple of teenagers skated past her on roller blades and giggled. Lucinda shifted her focus to her own reflection and flushed. Here she stood in the middle of Paris wearing only a mauve camisole, matching boyleg briefs, and bare feet. She groaned. Well, she'd never pretended to be good at these middle of the night adventures. She had trouble being organized at the best of times let alone with less than a good night's sleep.

  Pretending great interest in the view behind the glass, she checked her peripheral vision on each side, wondering how best to avoid notice.

  Right, like that would happen. Almost everyone who passed by glanced in her direction. Some quickly glanced away again, some grinned, some twittered. Some ogled. She dragged in a deep breath, deciding on brashness as her best course of action. Drawing her shoulders back, she turned away from the window. She smiled and nodded at each person who glanced in her direction, then turned down the first alleyway she came across.

  Good heavens. She would have to choose the mid-morning rush hour to appear in a world-class city in a state of undress. Of course, most nights she slept in an oversized grey sweatshirt, but yesterday, of all days, she'd given in to temptation and bought the feminine camisole set in the window of a lingerie store near her office - and she'd had to wear it to bed.

  She padded down the alley, searching for a hidden corner where she could materialize some clothes, but a groan from up ahead interrupted her mission. She crinkled her forehead. Had it been an actual sound? Good heavens, could it have been the baby? Had he been left alone somewhere in this alley?

  But a baby didn't groan.

  She closed her eyes and listened. Fragmented questions tumbled through her mind. Where am I? Who am I? The strong sense of disorientation threw off her balance, sending her careening into a brick wall. Her shoulder pressed against it and she flattened one hand against the side of her head, trying to control the dizziness. The person was disoriented. And uncomfortable.

  But he wasn't in danger.

  She tried to catch her breath as a stunning certainty ricocheted through her. These thoughts were too coherent for an infant. And yet they definitely came from her intended student. She slumped back against the wall, barely holding herself upright as disturbing questions pelted her consciousness like hailstones.

  If this wizard she'd been called upon to teach was not a baby, why hadn't she received The Call over a decade ago? The lad seemed to be suffering from some kind of accident. Could a blow to the head have triggered wizardly potential in him?

  She didn't know. Drat. Many of her friends loved mysteries, but not her. Why hadn't one of them gotten this one? As soon as the thought crossed her mind, Lucinda felt a fierce protectiveness jolt through her. No way. This guy was hers. Lucinda had longed to be a mentor for centuries.

  A good thing, a little voice whispered inside her head. Because a seventh sense told her he was ready. She could feel the magical potential shimmering from him. Damn. She felt like a pregnant woman who'd just given birth, been handed a full-grown child, and told, "Here you go. You're a mother now." In fact, it occurred to her that in that particular analogy, not only had she not realized she was pregnant, but she'd thought she could never even conceive!

  This isn't fair! I need more time. I'm not ready for this!

  She could almost see Merlin's sardonic green gaze. Yeah, like life is always fair.

  Lucinda shook her head. Okay, she'd manage. Somehow. In fact, the thought that she could start the teaching process right away held some appeal. She'd never been a patient person. Waiting twelve or thirteen years would have driven her nuts. And a teenager would be much easier to take care of than a baby. In fact, didn't they usually want to do everything on their own?

  Sure. This would be just fine. Ever since she'd decided she might have to care for a tiny baby, a heavy sense of responsibility had dropped on her shoulders. Now it lifted. She straightened up and pushed herself away from the cold wall.

  Time to find this guy.

  Creeping further into the alley, she scanned the edges of the clutter lining the path. Garbage cans. Car
dboard boxes. Wooden crates.

  The glint of tanned skin caught her gaze and she focused on a figure slumped on the ground behind a box. She hurried toward him and stopped about a metre away. What should she do now? This was definitely the person she'd been seeking. She sensed confused thoughts skimming the surface of his mind. Not quite conscious. She stepped forward and touched his shoulder.

  A fierce growl startled her and she leaped backward. He bolted to his feet as he swung around to face her. Her gaze followed his piercing eyes as he reached full height. In her peripheral vision, she saw his hand shoot to his hip. He tried to grasp something. A sword? That's what his surface thoughts revealed. How odd. A slightly puzzled expression flickered across his face, then disappeared. Hidden behind a shield of keen intelligence.

  Her breathing slowed as they stared at one another. She could almost believe he was an ancient warrior displaced in time. He emanated a strong aura of power. His hair, dark and untamed, swept back from his face and tumbled over strong, broad - and very naked - shoulders.

  Naked?

  She allowed her gaze to continue down his firmly muscled chest past his waist. She quickly became cognizant of two startling facts. One, he was a fully mature adult male. Two, he was completely naked.

  Good heavens, how did she get into these predicaments?

  As her skin pebbled, she realized his gaze had started to wander, too. The edges of his mouth quirked up in a smile and a glimmer softened his granite eyes. Lucinda suddenly remembered her attire - or lack thereof. A scrap of satin and lace.

  He took a step forward, and she jerked backwards, losing any facade of coolness she'd managed to present up to now. He stopped and studied her thoughtfully.

  Her gaze kept drifting down his chest, along the lightly furred arrow that conveniently pointed to the more interesting feature of the male anatomy. Especially in this man's case.

  Yipes, don't look there, she told herself. Yeah, right. That's like telling yourself not to look at the Eiffel Tower when it's standing right in front of you. And, right at this moment, the object of her discomfort stood as tall as that landmark.

  Forcing her gaze to meet his, she felt herself drawn into some strange, dark depths. Something about him frightened her - but intrigued her even more. She stepped back, but he reached out and clasped her hand. His body pulsed with suppressed energy, yet his touch felt gentle, coaxing.

  What's going on? I'm a full-fledged, tenth level wizard. I should be in control here.

  She tugged her hand free, folded her arms over her chest, and scowled at him. What was it about this guy that threw her off so badly?

  "Who are you?" she demanded.

  Total Abandon

  by Opal Carew

  After her divorce Sandra swore off any involvement with men for a year. On the anniversary of Sandra’s divorce, her friend, Aimee, suggests she make a list of sexy things she’s never done, but would like to. After Sandra makes a few safe suggestions, Aimee cajoles her until Sandra opens up and pulls out her deeper, darker fantasies. Thus, The List is born.

  Devlin is in love with Sandra, but knows she’s not ready for a committed relationship yet, so he and Aimee hatch a plan to get Sandra to go away to a secluded hideaway for a weekend, complete with two gorgeous hunks, to make The List come true.

  But Sandra experiences something more intoxicating that’s not on The List… falling in love.

  Chapter 1

  “I can’t believe you’ve gone an entire year without sex. And by choice.”

  Sandra grimaced at her friend’s comment. She tightened her fingers around her champagne flute. Many times she’d regretted telling Aimee about her resolution, but in fact, her confession to Aimee had forged a closer friendship between them. A friendship that had helped her through some tough times over the past year. Especially the loneliness.

  Aimee held up her glass. “Happy anniversary.” She grinned. “A year well behind you.”

  Sandra clinked her champagne glass against Aimee’s, then sipped the bubbly wine. Not that a failed marriage was something to celebrate.

  She glanced around Maelstrom’s Bar, wondering when Devlin would arrive to join them. He’d called to say he’d be a little late because he’d had to attend an afternoon meeting on the outskirts of the city. That meant he had to brave the rush- hour traffic driving back downtown to meet them. Once he got here, he’d have some trouble finding parking, too, since the bar was in a busy area.

  Sandra pushed her long hair behind her ear as she shifted on the upholstered seat. It was Friday evening and the bar was filling up fast, but she and Aimee had walked over right after work and grabbed one of the cozy curved booths near the window.

  “So, you’re sticking with your story that your ex wasn’t a complete loser? Because I’m all ears if you want to dis him. It’ll help get it out of your system.”

  “No, Eric was just the wrong guy for me.”

  Not that it hadn’t hurt to find he no longer loved her. Or really, that he had never loved her. They’d dated since high school and for many years, they’d mistaken being comfortable with being in love. But neither of them had wanted the marriage to fail—to admit they had failed—so it had taken ten years for them to finally realize that divorce was the only answer. They simply weren’t happy together. They were great roommates, but their connection had broken down years ago—if it had ever been there in the first place.

  Aimee pursed her lips. “Okay then. Moving on. Tell me what you’re looking for in a man.”

  She leaned toward Sandra and her lips turned up in a crooked smile. Sandra could tell Aimee had had a little too much to drink. And Sandra probably had, too. Champagne tended to have that effect on her.

  Sandra attempted to answer her friend’s question, but when she tried to picture the man of her dreams, all she came up with was a blank.

  Aimee seemed to understand her dilemma. She sipped from her glass, then giggled. “I have an idea. Let’s make a list.”

  She opened her purse and pulled out a pen, then grabbed one of the small square cocktail napkins the waitress had left on the table with the appetizer platter. Aimee wrote down the numeral one followed by a dot.

  “Okay, I want you to think about”—she giggled—“you know . . . men . . . and what you’d really like.”

  “What I’d like? I guess I’d like a guy who’s really sensitive, with a good sense of humor and . . . well, a sense of adventure.”

  Aimee pointed at her and winked. “That’s what I’m talking about. Adventure.” She sipped her drink again, then set down her glass. “Forget that Mr. Sensitive stuff . Think about Mr. Muscle- Bound- Hunk meets Mr. Sexy- Bad- Boy and how he”—she winked—“or, better yet, they could make your dreams come true.”

  Sandra knew exactly what Aimee was talking about. Sandra had made the mistake of telling Aimee about one of her ultra sexy dreams, dreams that had been a frequent occurrence over the past few months. Fantasies brought to life in steamy erotic detail in the middle of the night, leaving her hot and frustrated in the morning.

  “Before you settle down with Mr. Right, you need to get your mojo back. You know, enjoy the single life and see what’s out there. Now”—she pointed at Sandra with her pen—“tell me what kinds of adventures you want to have. Your wildest, craziest fantasies. Let’s write them down.”

  “I don’t see the point in making a list.” Sandra really didn’t want her fantasies written out in black and white. That seemed too . . . sordid.

  “Ah, come on. If you can dream about them, you can talk about them.”

  Sandra’s cheeks flushed. “I don’t think so.”

  Aimee patted Sandra’s hand. “Honey, there’s nothing wrong with having fantasies. And it’s good to examine them. It’ll help you know what really turns you on. Which is good since you’re going to start dating again. Look, I’ll get us started. You told me about that one where you were captured by pirates and carried off to their ship, so . . .”

  Sandra watched as
Aimee wrote Be held captive beside the numeral one.

  “Now you,” Aimee said, pen poised.

  Sandra shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t think of anything.”

  “What about that book you were reading a couple of weeks ago? It had bondage, didn’t it?”

  “Um... dominance and submission, actually.”

  Aimee smiled. “You’d like to try that?”

  Sandra shrugged again. Aimee nudged her shoulder.

  “Come on. Get into the spirit of it. I’m just trying to help.”

  Sandra took a sip of her champagne and gazed at Aimee’s deep blue eyes. She did want to help. Sandra sighed.

  “Okay. Well, I’m not sure about the bondage and domination stuff . I’d have to know the guy pretty well.”

  “Well, yeah.” Aimee nibbled on one of the chicken wings, then picked up the pen again. “Okay, let’s leave that one a little open.”

  She wrote down item number two as Experiment with bondage.

  “What else? Think about some fantasy that has really intrigued you that you know you’ll never try but wish you could.” She grinned. “And don’t be shy.”

  One fantasy immediately popped into Sandra’s head. She’d caught part of a show on sexual fantasies and she’d been intrigued by one woman’s fantasy about being with a stranger. To her surprise, that had turned on Sandra immensely. Which was just crazy, especially since the only man she’d ever been with was her ex- husband, Eric.

  “You’ve got one. I can see it in your eyes. Spill it.”

  Sandra pursed her lips. “Well . . .”

  “If you go, I’ll go.”

  Sandra nodded. “It’s . . . well, being with a stranger.”

  “You mean a one- night stand?”

  “No, more like making love with someone and not knowing who it is.”

  “So, like, some sexy guy is making out with you and you can’t see who it is? That’s pretty intense.”

  Aimee wrote down item number three as Make love to a sexy stranger while blindfolded.