by Helena Maeve
Table of Contents
Legal Page
Title Page
Book Description
Trademarks Acknowledgement
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
New Excerpt
About the Author
Publisher Page
A Totally Bound Publication
Twice Upon a Blue Moon
ISBN # 978-1-78430-492-8
©Copyright Helena Maeve 2015
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright March 2015
Edited by Sue Meadows
Totally Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2015 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN
Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Burning and a Sexometer of 2.
Surface Tension
TWICE UPON A BLUE MOON
Helena Maeve
Book one in the Surface Tension serial
Some affairs are like playing with fire, but knowing you’ll get burned is no reason to throw the game.
When her best friend doesn’t show up after a no-strings date with a man she met in a fetish club, Hazel is duty-bound to fetch her from what could be a sticky situation. She doesn’t expect to find her friend’s date so attractive—or so unflappably cool. Not that it matters. Hazel has been burned before and she knows to stay away from handsome men who are patently out of her league, especially when they’re involved with her one and only friend.
Tesla-driving, suit-wearing Dylan more than fits the bill. But every barb Hazel throws him makes him rise to the challenge, and he doesn’t want her to find a way to say no. But not only does Dylan have his own playroom and a sound grip on the S&M lifestyle, he’s also a man of many secrets. Dylan sees a place for Hazel in his bed, but what he wants is more than a one-night stand.
As she acclimates to the idea that Dylan may not be entirely straight or entirely single, Hazel soon finds herself caught between two dominant men whose bond seems to balance on a knife’s point.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
CSI: CBS Television Distribution
Norman Bates: Psycho, Paramount Pictures
Volvo: The Volvo Group
Hugo Boss: Hugo Boss AG
Kung-Fu Panda: Paramount Pictures
iPad: Apple Inc.
Casablanca: Warner Bros.
Rolex: Rolex SA
Formica: Formica Group
Pinterest: Cold Brew Labs
Louis Vuitton: LVMH
Facebook: Facebook, Inc.
Lakers: National Basketball Association
Lolita: Vladimir Nabakov
Greyhound: Greyhound Lines, Inc.
Duracell: Procter and Gamble
Visa: Visa Inc.
Olive Garden: Darden Restaurants, Inc.
Fried Green Tomatoes: Universal Pictures
Tesla: Tesla Motors, Inc.
Lady First: Popu Lady
BMW: Bayerische Motoren Werke AG
Seagrams Extra Dry: Diageo
Days of Our Lives: Sony Pictures Television
Monopoly: Hasbro Inc.
Starbucks: The Starbucks Corporation
Levi’s: Levi Strauss & Co.
Google: Google, Inc.
Nordstrom: Nordstrom, Inc.
Unforgettable: Irving Gordon
Habanera: Georges Bizet
Sleeping Murder: Agatha Christie
Cosmopolitan: Hearst Corporation
Ikea: Ikea
Ben and Jerry’s: Ben and Jerry’s Homemade Holdings, Inc.
Diet Coke: The Coca Cola Company
Star Wars: The Walt Disney Company
Honda Civic: Honda Motor Co., Ltd.
Mustang: Ford Motor Company
Taser: Taser International
Glenfiddich: William Grant & Sons
Columbo: Universal Studios Home Entertainment
Cirque du Soleil: Cirque du Soleil
The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde: Robert Louis Stevenson
Real Housewives: Bravo
Wild Turkey: Austin Nichols Division of Campari Group
Converse: Nike, Inc.
The Wolf of Wall Street: Paramount Pictures
Abercrombie: Abercrombie & Fitch:
Pride and Prejudice: Jane Austen
Unforgettable: Irving Gordon
Ritchie Rich: Harvey Comics
The Wizard of Oz: Metro-Goldwyn Mayer
Martini: Bacardi
Chapter One
The dashboard clock read one fifty-two. Sadie’s hour had elapsed by two minutes. There was no sign of her when Hazel glanced in the side mirror. She craned her neck over the seat, ignoring the frayed upholstery as she often did, just in case the angle of the mirror was playing tricks. No such luck. The rain-spattered sidewalk was bare of pedestrians.
Across the street, four-seven-one Aulden Way loomed like the homeless—half menacingly lost in shadow, half dolefully run-down.
Hazel drew her lower lip between her teeth. It was just two minutes. Sadie probably got distracted, or maybe adventure time with Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome ran over schedule.
Or, failing that, she was already dead and the longer Hazel dawdled, the more time Tall, Dark and Handsome had to dispose of the body. Her insides roiled at the thought. Too much CSI. Sadie’s track record with men slanted more toward the chronically unable to commit than the Norman Bates types.
Sadie’s probably fine, Hazel told herself. The upholstery screeched as she twisted away.
She made a valiant attempt to turn back to her book, defying the kernel of panic blooming in her gut. Her eyes had just begun to glaze over the spidery print when a door clanged open somewhere behind the car.
Hazel twisted in her seat, paperback flying from her hands to nestle somewhere on the floor of the Volvo. A huddled pair stood outside number four-seven-one, zipping up their jackets as they conversed in low voices. Hazel took in their beanies and distressed, low-slung jeans and glanced away again. Too short, too frumpy. No ankle-breaking stilettos.
Hazel settled back in the seat, heart in her throat and hand on the pepper spray can dangling from the car key. The pair neared at a s
luggish pace until eventually they passed the Volvo. They were holding hands.
Hazel watched them until they disappeared from view. Then she tore the keys out of the ignition and shoved open the car door. Instantly, the night chill rushed in to meet her. She stomped her way to the brownstone with a shiver as the icy wind seeped under her clothes. The denim jacket was poor cover from the cold front that had rolled in over the city.
At least it’s stopped raining. She tested the front door. Small mercies. The door swung open with the barest nudge.
Two, three years ago, easy entry into an apartment building on this street would’ve been unthinkable. Long live the yuppies and their cash. Security cameras glared down at her from the ceiling. The hallway lamps all worked, too, progressively casting their warm glow over bare brick walls as Hazel started up the stairs. She couldn’t see more than the next story up, but the motion sensors faithfully tracked her steps until she hit the third floor.
Sadie had mentioned that Tall, Dark and Handsome lived in three-B. Judging by the lettering on the doorbell, he also went by ‘Best’. Hazel folded her fingers around the pepper spray can as she raised her other fist to the metal door.
Two loud raps tolled like claps of thunder. She winced with each one.
Seconds passed before the door clanged and unlatched. A dark-haired man stood in the gap wearing dark slacks and a white shirt—a Hugo Boss magazine spread made flesh. He cocked his head, gaze gliding down her body. “Can I…help you?”
He didn’t seem to know what to do with Hazel’s jean and jean outfit. Good. She was the Hardy to Sadie’s Laurel, except blonde and pear-shaped. Where Sadie was slim and angular, Hazel strongly identified with the titular character in Kung-Fu Panda.
She could and would gladly sit on Mr. Best if he tried to stand in her way.
“Hazel!” Sadie’s voice rang out from somewhere inside the loft. She came into view a moment later, hopping on one foot as she struggled to slot her red pump onto the other. “Hey. What’re you doin’ here?” Whenever she let her guard down, Sadie’s accent came through loud and clear. Hazel could practically smell the hay bales.
Hazel tried not to squirm under their combined scrutiny. “It’s been an hour.” You were taking too long.
Best backed out of the doorway with a flourish. “Would you like to come in?” He flicked a hand in invitation, a soft smile playing across his bowed lips. “I make excellent margaritas.”
“No, thanks. I’m only here to pick her up.”
“Ah.”
Sadie finally got her shoes on. “Sorry, we kinda lost track of time.” She pulled down the hem of her leather skirt. She didn’t seem to be sporting any bruises. “Didn’t we, darlin’?” Her dimpled smiles were known for melting hearts. It was a shame Sadie had a habit of squandering them on useless tools who never seemed to treat her right.
“It was an absolute pleasure,” Best replied. The kiss he planted on Sadie’s temple was tender enough to make Hazel want to look away. She didn’t.
Sadie giggled girlishly and slithered out of his arms. “Maybe I’ll see you around?”
“You have my number.” Best trained a pair of chocolate brown eyes on Hazel. “Maybe next time you’ll come in for a drink… I didn’t catch your name.”
“I didn’t give it.”
Hazel started for the stairs, content to disregard Sadie’s scandalized expression. She heard her apologize as she pushed past the door of the brownstone.
Sadie caught up to her on the sidewalk. “What the hell was that?”
“What did you want me to say? Sure, we’ll have that threesome you’re fantasizing about?”
“Oh my God,” Sadie groaned. “When did he say that?”
“Did you miss the part where he was flirting with me while you were standing right fucking there?”
“He was just being nice,” Sadie scoffed, flinging her hands up to the heavens.
Hazel did her best to ignore Sadie as she slid behind the wheel. It was too cold and too late to shout at each other in the street. Sadie slammed the passenger side door shut as she climbed in.
“Why do you have to be such a weirdo about this stuff?”
“Really?” Hazel deadpanned. “You’re really going to ask me that?”
Battle-frenzy fled Sadie’s eyes. She tugged a hand through her curly blonde hair. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I had fun, okay? He’s a nice guy.”
“Does that mean you’ll call him?”
On this point, their opinions diverged dramatically. Sadie was a subscriber to the ‘sorry, I forgot’ school of public relations. She had a habit of stringing men along, even when they were nice and fun—and cool to be with.
True to form, she shrugged. “Maybe. Unless he actually was angling for a threesome.”
Hazel keyed the engine. “You really had a good time?”
“I can give you details—”
“God, no. I’d have to bleach my ears,” Hazel retorted, wrinkling her nose.
Sadie propped her knees against the dash. “Oh, come on. You have to admit you found him at least a little bit cute.”
Despite herself, Hazel thought back to the dress shirt and iron-creased pants, the short, slicked-back black hair. “If you’re into the Wolf of Wall Street look, I guess.”
“You should see his playroom…” Sadie let out a wistful breath. “I could sleep for days after that.”
“Good luck getting Marco to agree.”
Sadie let her head fall back against the seat. “Marco loves me.” She sounded a little out of it.
Hazel shot her a sidelong glance as they idled at a stoplight. Sadie’s eyes were barely open, her features soft and relaxed, the way she normally got after smoking a bowl.
Something like jealousy curdled in Hazel’s gut. Why couldn’t she have that?
The answer rose up with the blinding memory of camera flashes and the dense perfume of spilled tequila.
“It’s green,” Sadie muttered.
“Right.” Hazel put the Volvo into gear. They drove on.
* * * *
The Monday to Friday crowds had thinned significantly by Saturday morning, so Hazel put in a good word with Marco when she got in, then called Sadie to let her know she was taking her shift.
“You’re the best,” Sadie slurred into the phone.
“Drink lots of water,” Hazel said and hung up.
“She sick?” Marco asked as he flipped pancakes in a battered skillet. “My sister’s come down with something again. Says I can’t bring Maria over or she’ll catch the bug.”
“Your sister has a very delicate constitution.”
Hazel had met her once, after Marco’s divorce had gone through and his whole family had temporarily relocated to the diner in the guise of emotional support. Free food was just a bonus. His sister was a head taller with fists the size of anvils. She did not strike Hazel as the kind of woman who suffered flu vectors easily.
Marco snickered. He had a very particular way of laughing, mostly through his nose and jerking his head back the way a bird might do before putting out an eye with its beak. “Seriously,” Marco pressed. “Is she sick? I make a mean chicken soup…”
He was so painfully earnest that Hazel wanted to hug him.
As long as she’d been working at the diner, his steadfast affection for Sadie had remained constant. It was something of an open secret that he had only hired Hazel on her say-so. He had overlooked a lean résumé and offered her a helping hand when she was sinking.
Hazel was grateful to him, but not enough to keep from editing the truth.
“She’s just hung over.” From getting her brains fucked out by Mr. Best. “I’ll go see if anyone needs a refill.” She flitted out of the kitchen before Marco could press her for details.
Out front, the regular early birds were largely absent. Hazel recognized a couple of high school kids from the nearby development, earphones thrust in and fingers flying over the keyboards of their iPads. Their burg
undy and gray uniforms gave them away. Hazel circled around their booth, working her way around the occupied tables. By the window, a taxi driver who stopped in after every graveyard shift looked up from his newspaper when Hazel topped off his coffee.
“What’s new, Allan?” A nondescript name for a nondescript, blond face. Hazel wouldn’t have known he used to be an Olympic gymnast if she hadn’t heard it straight from the horse’s mouth.
The cabbie rolled his shoulders, joints creaking like misaligned metal rods. “Got another ticket last night. Swear the cops have it in for me.”
“It’s Orange County,” Hazel pointed out. “They have it in for everyone below the poverty line.” She patted his shoulder with a companionable hand. “I’ll go see about your pancakes.”
“I didn’t order any.”
“Then who…?” Hazel tracked Allan’s rheumy gaze to a stooped figure in the booth at the back. “Oh. Thanks.”
“Wouldn’t say no to pancakes on the house, though!” she heard Allan heckle.
Her attention was diverted by the crisp collar of the man poring over his cell phone at the rear of the diner. She didn’t recognize him until he glanced up.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Best started with a beatific smile. “Of all the gin joints…”
“More like ‘pretty sure this counts as stalking’.”
Best’s smile dimmed like a switch had been flipped. “Is Sadie around?”
“She’s not working this morning.”
“Is she all right?” Best leaned an arm against the back of the booth, his Rolex resting awkwardly on cerise vinyl. He dropped his voice an octave. “Is it because of…last night?”
Hazel white-knuckled the coffeepot handle. It was tempting to say Yes, you screwed her up and now she’s a weepy mess. Yes, you should’ve asked her to stay the night. She recognized that thread of malice that wound around her thoughts. It was familiar cruelty.
“No.”
