The Journey
Dreama Faire
This work contains sexually explicit language.
The Journey
©2006 Dreama Faire
All Rights Reserved
ISBN 1887932674
No part of this story 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, including internet and e-mail, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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“The Journey is a funny and sexy novella that steams like a speeding locomotive as Dreama Faire spins a web of lust and passion between Deirdre and Bruce. The sex is hot and the sultry heat of their encounter only builds as the scenes play out. Look for a humorous twist just as you think that they’re fated to go their separate ways. Sit back and enjoy this erotically sweet and funny book, and you’ll soon be wanting to take a train trip yourself. The Journey shows that sometimes you need to travel cross-country to find something you’ve been looking for in your own backyard.” – Michelle, Fallen Angel Reviews
“Ms. Faire tells an interesting and arousing tale. Her sex scenes sizzle. She has you from the start and you can't wait to find out how things will end for Deirdre. I would encourage everyone to take the journey and find out.” – Cheryl Clark, Erotic Romance Reviews for Women
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Deirdre Phillips watched the steam curl off the surface of her latte, while she tried to shut out the squawking arrival and departure announcements that echoed through the cavernous building. An exploratory sip of coffee burned her tongue, and she sighed. Thirty-six hours on a train–some vacation.
A movement nearby caught her attention. A red-and-black plaid shirt draped easily over broad shoulders, then tapered to disappear into a trim waistband. Deirdre sat up a little straighter, focusing on the well-worn denim wrapped around the nicest butt she’d ever seen. The blue-jeaned legs stopped in mid-stride, and Deirdre's gaze zoomed up to the owner’s face. Wide cheekbones, strong jaw dusted with early morning beard, dark eyes fringed with enviable lashes, and a head of neatly trimmed blue-black hair.
Oh, man, no one is that good looking.
The man tossed his duffel bag on the floor and began searching his jeans pockets, concern sharpening his features. The anxious expression turned to a frown as he opened his jacket and began checking those pockets. A second later, he pulled out a wallet, and his body language visibly relaxed. As he grabbed up the duffel bag, he glanced at Deirdre, a foolish grin brightening his face, then he walked away toward the ticket windows.
Deirdre's face felt warm and her stomach did calisthenics. Sexy wasn't the right word to describe this guy. She couldn't even remember the last time someone had affected her like that–certainly not Stephen. Poor Stephen...good company, but definitely not the man to light her fires. She closed her eyes and exhaled softly. Fires that had been doused long ago.
"God-awful hour, isn't it?"
Deirdre's eyes snapped open. Mr. Great Butt sat two chairs away, an engaging smile forming little parentheses at the corners of his mouth. Heat flooded across her cheeks and she nodded. He unfolded a newspaper and crossed those long legs, every movement sending little skips through her pulse. She took refuge in her coffee, trying to control her lustful thoughts. She glanced at the huge clock over the ticket counter just as the speakers crackled the news: the seven o'clock to Washington DC would be delayed another thirty minutes.
The stranger’s voice had a nice timbre. "Where are you headed?"
Again, she was unprepared for her body’s responses to him. One look at those warm brown eyes, and her insides quivered again. "Burlington, Vermont."
"Really? So am I."
That smile should be outlawed–along with everything else he owns.
He stood up and grinned down at her. "Guess I'd better get some coffee. Want yours refreshed?"
He headed toward the coffee shop, his muscular behind and thighs rippling invitingly beneath his jeans. Deirdre snatched up her purse and rummaged through it until she found a small mirror, then grimaced at her reflection. Her cinnamon-colored hair frizzed in every direction, hampered only slightly by a large barrette. Hazel eyes–her only redeeming feature–peered back at her from beneath a furry arch of eyebrows. A ski-jump nose, slightly red from the last vestiges of a cold, and a too-wide mouth completed her ‘look.’
Deciding she could do nothing to improve her appearance, she slipped the mirror back into her purse, then scanned the terminal. A stir murmured through her belly as she spotted the handsome stranger striding toward her, a cup of steaming coffee in each hand, a gorgeous smile lighting up his face.
"I forgot to ask what you were drinking, but your cup smelled like hazelnut. That okay?"
Hell, you could bring me a cup of mud and I'd drink it. She smiled. "Perfect. You're quite the detective."
He eased into the seat beside her and grinned. "It comes naturally. I'm a business analyst."
"Here in Atlanta?"
"Georgia State. I teach in the MBA program."
Deirdre's pulse skipped. He lived right there in town–what possibilities. She stole a quick glance at his profile. Right. Like he's being anything other than polite.
“I live out by the campus,” she said.
He shook his head. "Isn't that wild? We've probably passed each other dozens of times, but it takes a stupid bus trip to meet up.” He offered his hand. “I'm Bruce Long."
His fingers felt soft against hers. "Deirdre Phillips."
The loudspeaker blared–the train to DC was ready to board.
Bruce stood up and winked. "I guess this trip won't be so boring after all."
His long legs covered the ground quickly, and Deirdre had to hurry to keep up. Outside the terminal, arriving and departing trains hissed and groaned as they eased along the tracks. The air was heavy with the odor of grease and people and pigeons, and Deirdre wrinkled her nose. She hated this atmosphere that made her feel as though she were skulking through the back alleys of some run-down city. Nothing like the bright openness of an airport terminal.