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Total-e-bound
www.total-e-bound.com
Copyright ©2011 by Allie Standifer
First published in 2011
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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CONTENTS
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
About the Author
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A Total-E-Bound Publication
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www.total-e-bound.com
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Romancing Recee
ISBN #978-0-85715-795-9
(C)Copyright Allie Standifer 2011
Cover Art by April Martinez (C)Copyright November 2011
Edited by S.F. Swift
Total-E-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, Total-E-Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised 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 2011 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.
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Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Total-e-sizzling and a sexometer of 2
Club Botticelli
ROMANCING RECEE
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Allie Standifer
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Book five in the Club Botticelli Series
Love is never easy between two people determined to avoid heartbreak.
Experience has taught Recee Williams that love causes nothing but pain. Her past has proven her right time and again. She's content to live her life alone with no one but her friends. They may be close to the legal line of insanity, but they're her true family.
Garen's interest in the most lethal and unstable member of Club B's owners is nothing but foolish. Knowing that doesn't stop him from rushing to her ‘rescue’ when an ex threatens Recee's life. But Recee is more than capable of taking care of herself.
After one night together Garen knows he'll never be able to let this prickly woman go, but he'll need more than charm and great talent between the sheets.
Somehow Garen needs to find the perfect way to start Romancing Recee.
Dedication
To My Friends: The Soused, Sexy and Semi-Impaired Seven,
Samantha Cayto, the Nicole Austin, Desiree Holt, Brenna Zinn,
Cerise Deland and Regina Carlysle
You ladies make the bad stuff better, the good stuff great and the great stuff worth jail time.
I wouldn't have half the stories, laughter and fun without you! Here's to our next adventure in Vegas!!
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Trademarks Acknowledgement
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The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Cheerios: General Mills
Choco-wine: 2011 Clever Imports
Thorazine: GlaxoSmithKline
Barbie: Mattel, Inc.
Mary Kay: Mary Kay Inc.
iPhone: Apple Inc.
iPod: Apple Inc.
Dancing with the Stars: The British Broadcasting Corporation
Matchbox Cars: Mattel Inc.
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[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter One
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The moment she strutted into the club Garen ‘Flash’ Swifthorse couldn't keep his eyes off her. Curly brown hair spiralled down to her mouth-watering butt. Instantly his pants tightened around his growing erection. When tall, hot and edible sashayed her sexy ass up a set of metal stairs, she stopped at the landing, blew a kiss in their direction then disappeared from view. He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
The woman kept him hard anytime he caught sight of her. Hell, Caprice ‘Recee’ Williams jerked his cock with the mere thought of her. Too bad she never looked in his direction for her pleasure. Anytime the two of them were in the same room sparks flew as fast as the insults they tossed at each other.
"She single?” Casually sipping his ice-cold beer, he never took his eyes off the doorway his prey's curvy figure had entered, the doorway that led to the private office of the club's owner. Emma's friends were an amazing handful of eye candy, he mused as the cold liquid flowed down his parched throat.
"For now.” The veiled answer from his best friend and business partner, Brock Cage, didn't surprise him though it did annoy him. Brock wasn't a talker under the best of circumstances, but this time Garen felt more than a flash of irritation. Hadn't Garen covered his buddy's six the first time they walked in the club, facing a pack of rabidly over-protective women looking to castrate his friend? The least Brock could do was answer a question or two. It wasn't like he had anything else scheduled for the evening.
A quick look at his expensive watch, accurate in five time zones, assured Garen he had enough time left to get a few questions answered. “That means?"
Brock lifted one broad shoulder in a casual shrug. “Recee always has a guy in the wings. I swear they take numbers."
"Then they need to be checked in to the nearest psych ward.” Olivia's fiance Ethan Newton stated. “That woman carries knives like other females carry purses."
"Well, as long as she knows how to use them and no one gets hurt I don't see the problem.” Leave it to Carter to offer the mature approach. Living with Briley hadn't changed the computer expert's outlook on life. Considering Briley Evans didn't have even a passing acquaintance with sanity Garen had to give the man props for remaining level. Garen felt his lip twitch with amusement.
"I shudder to think of Recee armed, dangerous and pissed off. Treat her like a safari exhibit, my friend, watch her from a distance, make sure you're armed with a dart gun and never, never piss off the queen of the jungle. She'll eat you for lunch then use your rib cage to play drums."
"Hunt, that is sick, twisted and probably the closest thing to the truth.” Brock shot Hunt a knowing look. “She's all that and more. The more part being she's pretty much a sister to Trinity. Since the two of you got together with Recee's help I'd strongly suggest keeping opinions like that to myself."
"Like Emma wouldn't geld you for trash-talking her friend?” Hunt had a smirk curving his mouth.
Brock laughed. “Gelding me would hurt her, too. Nah, my Em's more likely to plan a sneak attack when I least expect it. She fights dirty that way.” The shit-eating grin splitting his lips stated he didn't mind his fiancee's tendency to get dirty.
>
"Let's face it, gentlemen, the women we love are doing the mambo on the line of sanity. They're impetuous, arrogant, and wanted in one state for crimes none of them will talk about.” Hunt laid the truth out there for all them to swallow, no matter how bitter the pill.
"So Recee is available?” All Garen wanted was the answer to that question. If some loser thought he had a place in that dangerous lady's bed he'd be more than happy to physically change his mind. Yeah, he hadn't noticed her on his first trip to Club Botticelli, but now that he had... Yeah, he couldn't wait to see how Recee's ankles looked as earrings.
Brock slapped him on the shoulder. “All I can say is yes and what kind of music do you want played at your funeral?"
"With the way you two have been circling each other I knew there'd be an intervention soon or later,” Ethan muttered around his beer bottle.
"Hey, there's nothing like foreplay to spice things up, right, Garen?” Carter jumped in to play middle man once more, his hands clasped tight around his dark glass of micro-brew.
"What?"
Carter shrugged, the plaid shirt covering his tall, lanky frame twisting while his rimless glasses slipped down the bridge of his Roman nose. Impatiently he shoved them back in place. “Haven't all the fights, insults and cut-downs been foreplay for the two of you? I mean everyone within a ten block radius of you can feel the burn when you're together."
"Nah, that's just Recee using another man's balls as a whetting stone.” Ethan tipped his chair back, a contented smile curving his mouth.
The rest of the men laughed as they moved on to discuss other happenings in their lives. Garen tuned them out. His sole focus, the pinpoint of light in his existence, was one smart-ass, knife-wielding, curly-haired vixen.
She might not know it yet, but Recee Williams had just met her match.
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"Ladies, your cordless dildos are downstairs plotting. You might want to make sure they're not stealing each other's Matchbox cars. Or it could get nasty.” Recee shut the door, separating the club from Olivia's private office.
Briley Evans’ blonde head popped up from behind the wide leather couch. A sleek crystal wine glass filled her hand. “What are you talking about?"
"Would you please stop calling them that?” Trinity muttered without much heat, fighting a losing battle that her friends knew she'd never win. “At least in my case, Hunt's better than any vibrator I bought. Bigger too.” The hussy had the nerve to brag.
Screams of “TMI” rang through the large feminine office. Yeah, Recee could have lived the rest of her life without knowing that much information on Dr. Huntington Windslow. But damn, that Trinity was one lucky woman, Recee admitted to herself and only to herself. Give these women even the whiff of vulnerability and they'd be on her like starving jackals, but with fewer table manners.
"I just left them not even five minutes ago and they were fine. Teasing Noah, but hell, that's nothing new.” Olivia moved from behind her large oak desk to stand near Recee.
Uncaring, Recee shrugged her shoulders. “All I know is from the minute I stepped into the club I almost died from testosterone overdose.” She waved a bejewelled hand in front of her face mimicking the heat wave she'd felt with that much good-looking eye candy only steps away. She didn't mention a particular set of dark eyes that set her pulse racing and her nerves humming. Or the way she'd sensed those same set of eyes trailing her up the stairs.
"Do I need to call nine-one-one or just start asking for blood donations now?"
"Trinity, Trinity, Trinity, when will you learn? I never leave a mess or witnesses.” Recee allowed a smirk to curve her lips. “The toys are just fine. I, however, am in desperate need of a drink."
Sweet, lovely, and always ready to help, Emma jumped from the dark leather ottoman to fulfil Recee's request. Her red-gold curls flew as she ran to the bar and picked up a wine bottle filled with a dark cocoa-coloured liquid. “Oh, you're going to love this new wine. One of the bar's regulars, Regina, recommended it. It's called choco-wine and it's the closest thing to heaven I've ever tasted."
Recee stepped farther into the expensively decorated room, dropped her purse and coat on the desk. Then she stopped and took a good look around her.
The coffee table was covered with food and her friends looked like they'd been enjoying their new wine in large doses. But the hair on the back of her head stood straight up and formerly calm nerves started screaming in warning. Recee didn't need any more hints to know she was looking at her own personal Armageddon.
Forcing serenity she didn't feel, Recee took in the faces of the four women who were closest to her than anyone else on the planet. And made herself remember all the really good reasons she couldn't maim or torture them.
"What,” she asked, “is going on? This looks way too much like a celebration."
Olivia, calm and always-practical Olivia, grabbed Recee's hand and tugged her down on the soft couch, happily shoving Briley's feet to the floor. “We are celebrating...of sorts."
Her stomach clenched and her ass puckered in fear. Whatever was coming Recee knew it was going to get ugly. End of the world, ice-cap-melting, cheap tennis-shoe-wearing, discount-perm type ugly.
"Oh Recee, how the mighty will fall.” Trinity shoved a glass of the dark wine into Recee's hand. The large diamond winking from Trin's left ring finger glittered in the soft lighting.
Recee wondered how attached Hunt really was to Trinity. They hadn't been together all that long, so maybe the good doctor wouldn't notice his wife missing for oh...say forty-eight hours or so. Long enough for Recee to wipe the shit-eating grin off Trinity's face and disappear into the Canadian underworld, if they had an underworld.
"Let her have a drink first or else this won't go well.” Emma warned the group while motioning Recee to drink up.
Seeing no choice but to drink, Recee put the cool glass to her lips and downed the liquid in a few desperate gulps. Damn, that was good shit. If she lived through this, didn't end up in jail or in the witness protection programme, Recee would have to thank this Regina for her rocking recommendation. The alcohol did its job and her nerves settled.
By the time she'd set the empty glass on the table her friends had formed a semi-circle around her.
"Let's get this over with.” Please, dear God, she prayed, let it be about really ugly bridesmaid's dresses. She could deal with that and smile while mentally planning the burning ceremony once the wedding was over. But something told her it wouldn't be that easy.
Olivia, sitting closest to her, cleared her throat and clasped her hands. “We've talked about this and come to a decision."
"It's your turn on the dance floor, Recee. We've all made the cut and the last song, she is a-playing,” Trinity informed her with a wink and a smile. The woman seriously needed to cut down on her Dancing with the Stars obsession.
"We don't want to force you,” Emma said in her sweet don't-rile-the-psycho tone, “but well...fair is fair."
"Bottom line, sugar-ass, it's your turn to pay or play,” Briley flat out stated.
And Recee could feel the bottom drop out of her stomach as her reality twisted itself to hell and back. But she made sure nothing showed on her face even as her heart threatened to pound its way out of her chest. Idiot, she cursed herself, you knew this was coming.
Tonight Club B, as it was better known to the locals, would hold its final play-or-pay meeting. Recee knew it. She smelt an ambush and damned herself and Trinity for coming up with the game in the first place.
It seemed so simple and easy at first. They would write down their deepest sexual desires, the man they wanted to act it out with and how long they wanted to play in the fantasy. They each had to scope out the man or men of their dreams and refine the details.
A year for all five of them to come up with the perfect male fantasy lover. Granted, most of them had forgotten the silly game until Recee pushed the issue for Olivia's own good. Now that her four friends were happily attached, Recee was the o
nly one left alone and the sole object of their attack.
Of course she could throw in the towel and take her pay portion of the programme, a one-hour interview with Mindy Monique, the world's answer to Tammie Faye Baker crossed with a pissed-off Mary Kay rep. Mindy's Internet show reached millions of viewers each week and she'd been hounding the five women for personal interviews since the club opened.
Recee could handle the painted-up poodle even if she had her eyes closed and one hand tied behind her back. The point was she didn't want to have to. Giving in went against her very nature.
She didn't mind doing interviews in general. As a top jewellery designer, Recee did interviews all the time. But Mindy took the cake. There was nothing too personal the woman wouldn't ask, nothing she wouldn't question, but most of all, none of the friends could stand the other woman's superior attitude.
With her bony hips, skeleton legs, silicone-inflated boobs, collagen-injected lips, capped teeth, highlighted hair and slightly too-perfect nose, Mindy reminded the plus-size ladies of Batshit Barbie. Mostly they felt sorry for the other woman, and Mindy knew it. In turn, Mindy did everything she could to make all their lives a living hell.
As comfortable as she felt with her two-digit clothes size, Recee knew other women would never understand. Years of being told she wasn't good enough, pretty enough or thin enough had taken its toll on her. But she'd come through the other side stronger, smarter and with a family of friends.
So like every other challenge and fear in her life Recee lifted her chin and faced it head on.
"Looks like I'll be paying instead of playing, girls.” She picked invisible pieces of lint off her shirt, trying to look as casual as possible. No one, not even those closest to her, would ever glimpse the terrified child she hid inside. Those days of being timid and obedient were over. No one controlled her life or destiny but Recee herself.
"That would be great,” Trinity drawled from where she'd sprawled herself on the opposite couch, long legs dangling over the arm as her feet swung back and forth. “But we're not gonna take it. You play...just like every one of us has."
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