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Charade
Dreama Faire
This work contains sexually explicit language.
Charade
©2006 Dreama Faire
All Rights Reserved
When secret lives collide, how do you avoid collateral damage?
Rejection of her latest manuscript stuns popular author Lindy Greenleaf, but more infuriating is the editor’s opinion that Lindy has outgrown the young-adult genre. When her bruised ego recovers, Lindy recognizes the blessing in disguise. Her secret career of writing erotic romances has been wickedly fun and filled her bank account. With new enthusiasm, she embarks on a research adventure to romantic Mexico, where she hopes to experience some new material–first-hand.
Her plans shift into fast-forward when hunky Jake Breton takes the seat next to her on the plane, but Lindy’s self-consciousness about her excess weight overshadows her growing interest in making him part of her experiments. Certain she’ll never see him again, she gathers her courage and lets herself go. By the end of a very erotic weekend, Lindy learns who she is, and that even Mr. Perfect has a secret.
Reviewers Love Charade!
"5 Kisses!...Entranced me from the first sentences, as I found myself empathizing with Lindy in every respect. Dreama Faire possesses an enviable ability to draw in the reader, keep her involved, and make her feel warm and comfortable at the same time. Her heroines are likeable women who ring true-to-life and cause the eager reader to marvel, 'That could be me!' I have now read two books by Ms. Faire and can truthfully say that she shot immediately onto my Authors-Must-Read list! Charade proves again that she is one of those authors whom I wish could publish a book a week."--Frost, TwoLips Reviews.com
"4 Angels...A hot, sexy book that is fun, yet still has that sexual chemistry between the characters...great characters...the heat and story line is there 'til the end."--Lena C., Fallen Angel Reviews
* *
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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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CHAPTER 1
Lindy Greenleaf watched her editor’s body language. The subtle shift of his shoulders and the way he laced his fingers together sent a glacier skidding through the pit of her stomach.
He cleared his throat. “Listen, I’m going to be honest. Your last book tanked and corporate is on my ass about it.”
“But the title’s only been out for three months! Buzz, you know how long promo takes to start working.”
He nodded, but his expression remained solemn. “It’s your fourth book, and your name is well-known enough to boost our publicity efforts.” His features softened. “The publisher’s not picking up your next manuscript. I’m really sorry.”
A flash of anger, then panic rushed into Lindy’s chest. How could this be happening?
She fought the burning moisture behind her eyelids. “Have you even read it?”
“Yeah…” He blew out a long breath and shook his head. “I know writing young adult stuff is hard. The little buggers’ crazy fads and weird language change so fast that we can barely get the books on the shelves before they’re outdated.”
“I can fix it.”
“No, you can’t, Lindy. You’re too…” He pursed his lips. “Ah, mature, to be targeting this audience. How would you fix it? Hang around schools? Cruise the mall? Wear black lipstick and join the Goth crowd?” He rose. “You’re a good writer, but you need to find another genre.”
Lindy stared at him in silence for a moment. Everything she’d worked so hard for all those years had just disappeared down the drain like cold morning coffee. Unable to respond in any meaningful way, she fumbled her purse strap onto her arm and stood.
Affecting her haughtiest expression, she chanced a look at the senior editor of Crabbet House. His eyes reflected pity.
Lindy closed the office door behind her, taking care not to slam it, then stalked indignantly down the hall on rubbery legs. Her heart thumped beneath her ribs, and she struggled for each breath as the numbness wore off. Too old? Who the hell do they think they are? Crabbet House had made lots of money on the Lindy Greenleaf stories. She had the royalty statements to prove it. Find another genre, indeed!
The heavy revolving front door of the old building creaked as she pushed through. The midday traffic on East Capital Avenue streamed away from the government buildings on the square, and office workers clogged the sidewalks, hurrying toward lunch or a round of quick errands. Life moved on as usual, oblivious to her pain. Lindy’s pulse slowed, and she turned to look up at Buzz Cooper’s window on the fourth floor. Was he watching her? Or had he returned to his desk to handle more important authors?
Pain tightened her throat and she squeezed back the angry tears. She would not give up without a fight.
* * *
The following morning, Lindy entered the cavernous lobby of the metropolitan library and sighed with pleasure. She never grew tired of the ambience of books, the come-hither promise of history or science or romance or adventure—whatever the human condition desired. In the quietude, she could almost hear the mutterings and musings of the great and not-so-great authors, their passions and souls bared on page after page, lined up on shelf after shelf. Today, she felt their dreams and disappointments more intensely than ever. Pushing through the heavy glass doors into the library, she glanced at the aged, bronze features of Mark Twain, standing guard on his pedestal, eternally welcoming readers to his world. Lindy smiled, comfortably at home in her favorite world.
A spectacled woman beamed from behind the information desk. “Have a nice day off?”
Lindy grimaced. “Actually, Rosa, I’ve had better.”
The woman’s face blanched, then she smiled timidly. “When do we get to read your new book?”
Hah! Never! “It’ll be a while. Publishing takes a long time. I’ll let you know.”
Rosa’s tone sparkled with admiration. “My niece just loves your stories. I think it’s wonderful that you write such nice, clean books.”
Wrote. Past tense.
Lindy moved through the main room, thinking about Rosa’s comment. The matronly Italian woman most likely had no clue as to what her niece did or did not like. Lindy grinned. Heaven only knew what the niece was really reading.
Lindy greeted the reference librarian hunkered down in front of his computer, the brilliant screen reflected in his thick eyeglasses, his wiry red hair fanning out around his head like a clown wig. Continuing on toward the office doors at the rear of the main floor, Lindy considered the man’s appearance. What a perfect camouflage for an undercover agent. Her pulse blipped. What if he really worked for the CIA, monitoring the library patrons’ reading habits? She shook her head. One never knew.
She entered the circulation department and grinned at the chorus of “hellos” from the four women who catalogued, inventoried, and prepared books to be shelved. She was aware of their smiling faces following her progress through the room, their scrutiny suddenly just a little too intense for her comfort level. What if they were all lesbians? Just waiting for the chance to grab her and—
“John is looking for you.”
Lindy blinked and peered nervously at a thin woman sitting behind a stack of paperbacks. “Thanks, Jeanne.”
The clerk nodded, then applied a shelving label to the spine of a thick book. Lindy watched the process for a moment. She was pretty sure these women sneaked the newly released romances out at night to feed their ravenous reading appetites. Had they read her books? She cast another glance around the room, but they’d all lost interest in her and turned their attention to their work.
In her own office, she closed the door and let out a long sigh, gazing around her small domain. Service commendations covered the wall behind her desk, and an oak bookcase held dozens of periodicals and book catalogs. She moved to the desk and traced a fingertip over the fine engraving on the brass nameplate. “Linda Greenleaf, Acquisitions Librarian.”
Books had been her life, and her only friends during a turbulent childhood. In the safety of the stories, her imagination had sprouted wings and soared, whisking her away from reality, giving her space and time that no one could steal. A writing career had seemed inevitable and so, it appeared, had yesterday’s conversation with her editor. Her gut tightened. I’ll think about this another time.
She scanned the neatly stacked papers and books on her desk, reaching out to straighten a rogue purchase order that had tried to escape from the pile. Then her gaze moved to a shiny snow-globe on the corner of the desk. As she had done every morning of her life, she picked it up, twisting her hand to watch the silvery flakes rise up and swirl a storm around the tiny Dutch girl inside. The blonde figure clutched an armful of tulips and gazed back at Lindy with huge blue eyes.
“Good morning, Sasha,” she whispered past the lump in her throat.
The snow began to settle around the figure’s wooden clogs and Lindy gently set the globe back where it belonged, poignant memories of a beloved uncle clouding her thoughts. The only person in her life who’d given her something special.
The door opened and the public relations director stepped into the room. “Morning, Lindy. How was your day off?”
John Blair’s soft tone of voice sent a shiver scurrying across her shoulders, and her stomach did a little jig.
A dynamic and humorous man, John excelled in his job and was highly respected by everyone in the library community. His charismatic personality drew people like bees to honey. Lindy had enjoyed more than one fantasy about him during the past eight years.
She smiled, the disastrous day-off briefly forgotten. “Excellent, thank you.”
John leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb and casually slid one hand into the pocket of his sharply creased trousers. A vision of his trim body, buck naked and close against her own flashed through Lindy’s head. A shudder moved through her chest, suspending her breath and notching up her pulse.
“Lindy, has anyone contacted you about donations for the summer literacy program?”
She quietly released the captive breath. “Not yet, but you know how these publishing companies are.”
He chuckled. “Yes, they can be a real pain in the tail, can’t they?”
More than you know. She scribbled a note while she talked. “I’ll make some calls this afternoon.”
He straightened up and reached for the doorknob. “Keep me posted.”
“I’m taking some vacation time next week, so I’ll have answers for you by Monday.”
“Oooh, going somewhere exciting?”
“Probably not—I need to do some writing research.”
John grinned. “Go for it. I’m looking forward to your next book.” He winked, then moved out into the circulation department, closing the door quietly behind him.
Lindy exhaled sharply, trying to dispel the adolescent giddiness she always felt when she was alone with him. Why hadn’t she ever acted on her daydreams? She glanced down at Sasha, insulated in her tiny world. To take such a bold step would mean opening up to rejection, and Lindy had certainly had enough of that in her life.
She shook off the thought and grinned. Except in one area.
She reached into her handbag and removed the windowed envelope that had arrived that morning. She stared at the figures on the enclosed check and her pulse skipped. All the answers crystallized: her secret stories generated excitement, notoriety, and money. Buzz Cooper had given her a blessing in disguise. Freedom was hers. No more struggling with what morals to include in her teen books. Today’s kids were reading whatever caught their fancy—the more adult, the better. The days of sweet romances and friendship stories had passed.
She tucked the royalty check back into her handbag.
“Lindy Greenleaf is moving on.”
* * *
Exactly one week after Crabbet House had dropped her, Lindy sat on a red-eye flight headed for Mazatlan, Mexico. She’d barely slept the night before—she’d been too excited about her latest idea. For the past two years, she’d been successful using only her vivid imagination to conjure up plots and scenes for her erotic romances. Surfing the Internet for ideas, she’d downloaded erotica to read and analyze, and had ordered “how-to” books on the art of writing steamy sex. But the biggest resource had been her own fantasies—scenarios of lust and submission, and willful abandonment of every “nice girl” ideal she’d ever known. If her goal was to have a serious career writing about wild sex, then she’d darn well better experience it first-hand.
She gazed through the small window, only half-seeing the orange-suited baggage handlers and maintenance crew, while her thoughts wandered through the past to her own limited sexual explorations. She could barely remember the one or two exciting “bad boys,” whose only interest had been sex without personal involvement. She sighed. Those encounters had seemed prophetic. Her father’s scornful words echoed in her head. “Fat girls can’t be choosy.”
She bit down on her lip and forced his voice out of her head, refocusing her thoughts on Dr. Madison’s kind advice. “Until you accept that what happened was never your fault, you won’t be able to experience the joy of loving intimacy. Sex is as much about the mind as it is about the body.”
The disturbing memories still grated like rough fabric on raw skin. How many years had she held him off? Her throat tightened and she closed her eyes, trying to push away the images of a young girl grappling with the double-edged sword of a father’s sexual innuendoes and overt invitations. Obedience to a parent versus self-preservation. Not an easy choice for a child.
Someone bumped the armrest, snapping Lindy’s attention back to the present as her gaze landed on the front of faded blue jeans. She stifled a small gasp. Brown stitching outlined the fly, dipping into creases and roaming over the mound hidden beneath. If that’s relaxed, I’d like to see what it looks like when it’s hard! She gulped and turned away from the tantalizing distraction.
A soft drawl drifted from above. “Excuse me, I’m in the window seat.”
Lindy unbuckled her seatbelt and awkwardly struggled into the aisle, her butt brushing against the man behind the voice. He didn’t move aside to let her pass, and the contact sent a flush of warmth up her neck. She concentrated on looking everywhere else as he slid into the seat next to hers.
When she’d settled into her place again, she stole a sideways glance at him. Red-hot shocks careened through her stomach and trickled toward her crotch. She quickly looked away. I’m sitting next to this for the next twelve hours?
The soft voice trespassed again. “You going to L.A.?”
How could she talk to him without looking at him? How could she keep her concentration if she did look at him?
She took a slow breath, then turned to respond, but couldn’t speak. Here was a man with whom she’d happily experiment! Long ash blonde hair swept back from his face, corralled into a ponytail. Heavy eyebrows rambled across a strong forehead, shadowing deep-set eyes. And what eyes—vivid green and sparkling with interest, tiny lines crinkling away from the corners into smooth tan skin. A masculine face, but at the same time, beautiful. Sensuous mouth, nice smile. And, he looked vaguely familiar.
She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “Mexico. First time.”
His great smile widened. “Me, too. You on vacation?”
Lindy immediately felt self-conscious. What did her hair look like? Had she chewed off all her lipstick? Had her mascara migrated into a raccoon mask? She glanced down at her lap, painfully aware of her chubby thighs straining against her white gabardine slacks. She crossed her legs, which only made it worse.
“Sort of. I’m a writer. I needed a change of scenery while I work on a new book.”
The eyebrows lifted. “Really? What do you write? What’s your name?”
Lindy eyed him for a moment. Any chance she could get him to be her guinea pig? She’d have to think about that one.
“I write young adult novels—you know, teen stuff.” She offered her hand. “I’m Lindy Greenleaf.”
“Jake Breton.”
The contact with his warm fingers sent prickles of delight across her skin. He held her hand longer than would be polite in most circumstances, which escalated the sensations.
She tilted her head. “What takes you to Mexico?”
“Business. My company needs some advance publicity work done.”
The speaker overhead crackled and snapped, and the attendant’s voice came through, painfully loud. Lindy cringed, but dutifully removed the instruction card from the seat pocket and followed along as the woman demonstrated all the safety procedures. With the instructions for crashing in water, Lindy’s stomach flip-flopped. Like a seat cushion would do any good after plummeting into the sea at God-knows-how-many-miles-an-hour.
When the attendant finished her spiel, Lindy glanced at Jake. He’d tipped his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. She allowed her gaze to drift to his lap, wondering if his equipment looked as good as his face. She stared, thinking about making the handsome stranger part of her research. Under her scrutiny, his lap began to grow into a telltale bulge. She sucked in her breath and quickly looked up at his face.
His eyes were half-open and he smiled wickedly.
CHAPTER 2
Jake concentrated on keeping his eyes partly closed and his breathing even, savoring his seat partner’s frank scrutiny. His cock stirred and he resisted the temptation to look directly at the doll beside him. Her round butt had felt soft and luscious brushing against him as she’d squeezed into the aisle, and he’d struggled to keep from caressing it as she passed. A vision of those naked plump cheeks raised up in front of him sent blood racing into his groin. He wouldn’t be able to pretend much longer.
He lifted one eyelid to get a better look at her. A dreamy expression softened her heart-shaped face. What was she thinking about? Maybe wrapping those full lips around his cock and sucking him off. He smiled at the erotic mental image, and she gasped.
What the hell, let’s see if she’s a player.
“See anything you like?” he murmured.
Her pale skin turned bright red, and she quickly looked away.
Jake squeezed his thighs together, urging Dick to calm down, then straightened up in the seat and cleared his throat.
“So, tell me what it’s like to be an author. Do you sit in a garret all day—smoke cigarettes and drink coffee while you type?”
Lindy’s head snapped around to face him, disbelief sharpening her features.
He chuckled. “You know—like Stephen King or Ernest Hemingway.”
Her face relaxed into a charming foolish grin. “I should be so lucky. No, I haven’t quit my day job yet.”
Jake shifted in the seat and crossed his legs. Dick was still acting up.
“Okay, tell me about the day job.”
While she talked, he absorbed the whole picture. If he’d had to guess, he wouldn’t have tagged her as a librarian, but it made sense—who would be better suited to write than someone who loved books? Her passion was evident. What were her stories like? Teen books had to be a bitch to write, what with all the crap today’s kids involved themselves in.
Lindy’s tone changed. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m too old to write for the young adult audience.”
Jake laughed. “Old? What could that mean? Thirty?”
Her face flushed with embarrassed delight. “Thanks, but I’m thirty-six.”
He grinned and patted her hand. “Don’t tell anyone.”
The sensation of touching the velvety surface of her skin sent jerky ripples through his pulse, just as it had when they’d first shaken hands. Erotic messages moved in waves through his groin, sending his imagination into fast-forward.
He tried to focus on the conversation. “I’m not much of a reader, but maybe I’ll pick up one of your books when I get home.”
At that moment, the flight attendants parked the beverage cart in the aisle, and began passing out small foil packets of pretzels.
Jake pulled out his wallet. “Let me buy you a drink. This is gonna be a long night.”
Lindy’s dazzling smile made him want to think up other things to say that would elicit that same response.
A few minutes later, they touched the rims of their plastic glasses of Chardonnay in a silent toast, then sipped in quiet companionship. Jake threw a sidelong glance at the woman beside him. Her gleaming brown hair curled around her face, and the beautiful soft line of her jaw sent a tremor through his already aching crotch. He treated himself to a long look at her ample breasts, moving sensuously beneath her pink sweater with each breath. His cock hardened again, straining against the seams of his jeans. He wanted to touch those tits, feel the firm nipples in his mouth, run his hands over her curvy hips, taste the creamy honey of her pussy. And when he’d done all that, he’d like to hold her close all night.
He took another big swallow of wine. Like she’d ever let any of that happen—but it could be worth some effort.
* * *
Lindy felt foolish babbling on and on about her job at the library. Why would the handsome public relations guy care? And why did she care if he cared?
She swallowed the last of the wine and warmth moved through her chest as she stole another glance at Jake. What would he think if he knew about her “other” writing? More importantly, what would he think about being part of her research? Unlikely he’d even consider it. Sex with a fat girl couldn’t be high on his list.
She automatically pulled the hem of her sweater down over the seatbelt buckle. “Tell me about your public relations job.”
A brief flash of confusion darkened Jake’s eyes, then he grinned. “Sorry, I was a million miles away. What did you say?”
“You said you were headed to Mexico to do some PR work. What kind?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m a freelancer. One of my clients wants to expand their market into the Mazatlan resorts. I’m going down there to do the advance planning.”
The effects of the wine and the drone of the jet engines pressed in on Lindy while she listened, and her thoughts drifted again to her own research plans.
A few minutes later, she offered a weak smile. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but I can’t keep my eyes open.” She reclined her seat back as far as it would go, and scrunched down, trying to get comfortable. “Wake me when we get there.”
——
Lindy breathed deeply, feeling the warm, moist air flow into her lungs. The sharp needles of hot water danced across her shoulders, and she closed her eyes. Only one more year and she could leave, find a safe place. Anywhere but here.
She turned off the shower and stepped out into the small bathroom. A tall figure shimmered in the steam, and she gasped. Then a huge fluffy towel wrapped around her body, and she gazed up into deep green eyes.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to help you with your research. Isn’t that what you want?”
——
Lindy moaned, nestling her head against the rough fabric of the seat. It’s so hot in here! She took a deep breath, and jerked awake as a flush of sweat materialized over her chest and crawled up her neck. Holy cow, what a weird dream!
Instantly, she felt Jake’s gaze. Another wave of heat moved across her chest, this one sending a ripple through her belly. She shifted in the seat and sat upright, aware of her soaked panties.
She stretched her neck and shoulders. “Are we there yet?”
“I was just going to wake you. We’ll be landing in LA in twenty minutes.” He checked his watch. “It’s the middle of the night, and I’m starving. How about you?”
Lindy gazed at him for a minute, thinking about her mind-boggling plan. “I could eat something.”
Jake’s expression brightened and a sly twinkle illuminated his eyes. “Anything specific in mind?”
* * *
Stepping through the door into the jet way, Lindy recoiled at the wall of heat pressing into her. She trudged up the slight incline of the passageway, wrinkling her nose at the stale stuffy air, and intensely aware of Jake following close behind her. He seemed tuned in to her thoughts, but for all her great plans, she had no clue how to go about including him in them. She couldn’t just ask him to hop into bed with her, could she? She shook her head. No, she couldn’t.
“Something wrong?”
Jake’s close murmur startled her.
“No, just wondering how I’ll get any work done tomorrow—err, today—after a night with no sleep.”
“Yeah, jet-lag’s a bitch, but if you don’t try to follow East Coast time, you’ll adjust pretty fast. How long are you staying?”
“Until Sunday night.”
The throng of passengers reached the end of the jet way and spilled into the icy air-conditioned terminal. The abrupt change in temperature sent an uncomfortable ripple of goose-flesh over Lindy’s arms.
Jake took her elbow and another flash of heat raced toward her crotch. Her thoughts immediately returned to her extraordinary plans. Jake seemed more than a little interested in her, and his innuendoes were encouraging. An image of the intriguing bulge in his lap flashed through her head. Her nipples tightened, and she stole a peek at his unique profile as they marched down the concourse toward the public areas. Yes, jumping Jake Breton’s bones would be a great way to jump-start her sputtering writing career, not to mention her own personal enjoyment of the project. She gulped. If I can just get up the nerve.
Except for the night sky darkening the huge windows, Lindy would not have guessed that it was long past midnight. People of every description filled the brightly lit main terminal. Men dressed in western wear swaggered on fancy boots, and gazed confidently from beneath Stetson brims. Slim, fashionably dressed, perfectly coifed ladies browsed shop windows. Hindu women in brilliant saris shepherded dark-eyed children, and kept close watch on the youngest tots. In a corner of one of the waiting areas, a group of rumpled teenagers slept in a heap, their duffel bags and knapsacks doubling as pillows.
Jake squeezed her elbow. “Lost in space?”
She grinned. “Crowds offer such wonderful opportunities to study people and personalities. It helps me develop characters for my stories.”
Jake’s face registered awe, and Lindy again pondered the reaction of most people when they learned she was an author. Though writing was hard work with very little glamour involved, everyone reacted the same—authors were celebrities.
She pointed across the concourse. “There’s a restaurant.”
Two minutes later, she sat back, crossed her legs, and watched Jake stroll up to the bar. His worn jeans weren’t tight, but they wrapped neatly around his firm butt, hugged his long legs, then ended just at the tongue of soft brown loafers. Her perusal moved upward to his lean, muscular arms, bronzed from what could only be long hours spent in the sun, or maybe on a tanning bed. A loose fitting, fine knit golf shirt draped easily over his broad shoulders and skimmed his chest, but revealed nothing of what physique lay beneath.
I wonder what he looks like without the shirt. A stir moved through her belly. Jake turned sideways and leaned on the bar as he looked through his wallet, and Lindy’s gaze drifted to the front of his trousers. She took a deep breath, savoring the deliciously uncomfortable pulsing between her legs. In less than five hours, they’d be in Mexico. She had to come up with a way to include him in her plans, without letting him knowing why.
* * *
Jake pulled a twenty dollar bill from his wallet, furtively watching Lindy give him the once-over. Her scrutiny sent lust romping through his body, and Dick woke up. Jake turned back toward the bar, sliding his hand over his erection to adjust it to a more comfortable position.
What was different about her? For one thing, she wasn’t falling all over him, like so many of the girls he met. Granted, the women who hung out in bars were there mainly to meet guys and maybe score a husband. Like Tammy.
A familiar cold slab moved into his chest, and anger rose like a cobra. Different or not, this chick wouldn’t get anywhere near him. He collected the two beer mugs and headed toward the table. Lindy’s soft brown eyes sparkled, and her full mouth curved into that beautiful smile.
Well, maybe just a little.
CHAPTER 3
Lindy took a small sip of beer, then tilted her head. “You talk about jet-lag like you have a lot of experience.”
Jake nodded. “I travel quite a bit, mostly to the West Coast. Been to London twice.” He grinned. “Now that’s jet-lag! They say it takes one day to catch up for every hour you lose or gain. But on quick trips, sometimes I’m back home before I have a chance to get out of sync.”
“Home is D.C.?”
He shook his head. “Fairfax, Virginia.”
“Do you commute every day?”
“No, only when necessary. Since I freelance, I don’t have to punch a time clock for some suit.”
Something about the way he said the word “suit” sent a blip across Lindy’s mental radar screen, but she said nothing. With any luck, she’d know Jake Breton very well by the end of the trip.
Jake finished the last bite of his cheeseburger, then pushed back from the table. “I need to hit the men’s room.”
He sauntered out of the pub and disappeared around the corner. Lindy’s courage grew. What the heck. Just be bold, make it happen. It isn’t like I’ll ever see him again when it’s over.
* * *
The passenger profiles changed dramatically at the entrance to the international terminal, and Lindy’s brain quickly catalogued the experience for possible future use in a story. She grinned at a group of senior citizens shuffling along behind their tour group coordinator. The luggage ratio had to be about four pieces for each gray headed traveler, not to mention the camera cases, shoulder bags, and huge purses.
In sharp contrast, large families of Spanish-speaking people milled about, keeping the air humming with the din of excitement—even at the ungodly hour. Children chased each other, giggling and squealing. Women laughed and chattered nonstop, handing out food to anyone who came near. The men stood together in small clusters, ignoring the chaos.
Lindy focused on two particularly handsome dark-skinned men with coal black hair and smoldering eyes—such wonderful physical characteristics for an exotic hero. How would this man look in flowing robes and a turban? Brandishing a sword…yes, a dangerous man. The object of her attention turned and looked directly at her, his dark gaze boldly dropping to her breasts. A flutter of excitement moved through the pit of her stomach. Better yet, what things would he do to her if she were his captive? Her pulse leaped at the thought.
Jake’s voice murmured close by. “Dangerous to stare at strange men, especially foreigners.”
Lindy dropped her gaze, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks. Dangerous or not, she would write a story involving just such a man.
Jake walked to the waiting area and dropped into a seat. He slouched down, closed his eyes and, in moments, his chest rose and fell slowly. How could he sleep through all this noise? Lindy took advantage of the moment and her aroused state, imagining herself straddling him, lowering her body slowly onto his rigid shaft, feeling him deep inside her. The soft flesh between her legs pulsed, and she exhaled sharply and looked away. What I’d give to have Roger Rabbit right now! She squeezed her thighs together, stunned by the erotic sensations coursing through her body. Had she ever felt this way before? Maybe the mental block had tumbled.
When the attendant called for boarding, Jake rose to his feet and stretched, his shirt lifting just enough to provide a glimpse of a flat, firm stomach. Another pulse ran through Lindy’s core. They both stepped into the line, and she reached into her handbag for her boarding pass.
Fumbling through the contents, she muttered, “Darn it, I just put it in here…ah, found it.”
As she withdrew the card, the handbag slipped off her shoulder, spilling its contents on the dull gray carpet. Lipstick rolled toward the check-in desk. Her change purse popped open, scattering nickels and pennies in every direction. Three pens and four pencils tumbled out, and her tiny pocket recorder hit the floor with a sickening thump. The novel she’d brought along lay face down at Jake’s feet.
Oh God! She lunged for the paperback, but Jake already had his fingers around it.
An instant later, his eyes burned with lustful delight. “Wow! Porn!”
She tried to grab the book, but he held it up out of reach, grinning lecherously.
“My, my. I didn’t know librarians read such things.”
Lindy nearly choked on her hoarse whisper. “It’s not porn—it’s a romance! Give it back!”