FIRST CHAPTER: You Taste So Sweet by Erin M. Leaf

You Taste So Sweet
by Erin M. Leaf

Blurb: 

When a meteor explodes over Atlanta, infecting the world with a virus that turns people into zombies, Lark knows survival will be difficult. Her roommate and best friend insists that her father and his best friend will come and save them, but Lark isn’t sure if she wants to put her life into the hands of strangers. Unfortunately, when the zombies come, she may have no choice. And when Ben and Dillon break into their dorm in the nick of time, Lark finds herself reevaluating her insistence on independence.

Tragedy brings them together. The fight to survive creates a bond stronger than blood in a few short days. What’s a girl to do when faced with the zombie apocalypse? Does she trust in the two men she knows will keep her alive, or does she strike out on her own?

Be Warned: menage sex (MMF)

You Taste So Sweet

Erin M. Leaf

Copyright © 2014

Chapter One

You Taste So Sweet by Erin M. Leaf: Chapter One

“Olivia, they’re coming up the outside walls!” Lark yelled, gripping the bat in her right hand so tightly she couldn’t feel her fingertips anymore. Her heart beat so hard her head swam, but she refused to let the adrenaline rushing through her system freak her out. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down. Maybe if she lived through this she could have a good cry later, but for now… She glanced out the window, pressing her lips together as the zombies literally climbed up the sheer brick face of the dorm. “Shit! Get the hairspray. We need to burn them.”

Olivia was directly behind her in the room and her best friend was breathing way too fast. If Olivia kept it up, she’d hyperventilate. That would be bad. Lark couldn’t handle the zombies by herself. “Where’s the lighter?” she asked, hoping to distract her roommate enough to calm her down. “Grab it for me, too. No, wait, it’s in my pocket.” She fumbled it out, willing herself to be calm. If she dropped it now, she’d have to duck down to pick it up. She did not want to do that. The zombie below her bared his jagged teeth and she fought down a shudder of revulsion.

“I don’t know where the hairspray is! I can’t find it.”

Lark listened to Olivia rummaging around in the nightstand. “Hurry,” she urged, staring at the rotting face only a floor below her. He sniffed and she swallowed hard. He could smell her. Not good.

Olivia cursed. “We don’t have enough hairspray to do any good. It’s our last bottle. Forget it, just shut the window,” she said, frantic. “We can’t risk it. My dad is coming—”

“Olivia, I swear to God, get the damn hairspray. We don’t have time to argue about this.” Lark held out a hand, not even looking to make sure Olivia listened. She couldn’t take her eyes off the creatures directly below them. They were hideous: grey faces under scraggly hair, chunks of skin missing. Every time she remembered that they were once human, and that some of them might have been her friends, she wanted to vomit.

Focus, Lark. No time to think of that now! she told herself, not for the first time. She adjusted her grip on the bat, making sure she had a good hold. When Olivia slipped the cool bottle of hairspray into her free palm, she tucked the bat under her arm and flicked her lighter on in one smooth motion. “Stand back,” she warned, then leaned out the window, lighting the aerosol. A tongue of flame shot down, catching the last bits of ivy still clinging to the brick. It also caught the three zombies clawing their way up. Their bodies flared, heat rising so fast Lark had to duck back inside before she could tell if she’d got them all. She slammed the window shut, hands shaking.

“Are you okay?” Olivia asked.

“Jesus, Olivia. That was close,” Lark replied, slumping down. “Why didn’t you give me the can sooner?”

“My dad is coming,” Olivia insisted again. “He’ll save us.”

Lark didn’t know what that had to do with anything. She still had to keep the damn zombies from getting in now—they’d almost come up to their freaking window! She eyed her friend tiredly: Olivia’s light brown hair was haphazardly tied back and her fading summer tan didn’t disguise the exhaustion in her face. Her red-rimmed green eyes glanced away apologetically when she saw Lark glaring at her. Lark was fairly certain she looked just as bad. She sighed. Olivia couldn’t change who she was just because the world was ending. She depended on her dad. Lark’s parents were dead so she was a lot more used to taking care of herself than Olivia.

“Even if he’s coming, that doesn’t mean I want to get eaten before he gets here,” Lark offered, shifted the bat back into her hands. No telling how soon she’d need it again.

Olivia gave her a shaky smile. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.” She ran a shaky hand over her hair. “I’m just so tired. We haven’t slept in two days.”

Lark rolled her shoulders, trying to relieve the muscle ache from using the bat. “Doesn’t matter. If we want to live, we stay awake.”

“I don’t know if I want to live anymore,” came the soft answer.

Anger rushed through her and Lark shot to her feet. “Shut up! Just… No. We are going to live. What would your dad say if he could hear you? Your Uncle Dillon?” She’d never met Olivia’s dad and his best friend, but from what Olivia had told her, they sounded like good people. “How can you even say that?”

Olivia had turned away. “I dunno. My mom’s gone already, and now I think it’s a blessing. It sucked at the time, you know. Her dying.” She glanced over her shoulder at Lark.

Lark did know. Her parents had died in a freak carbon monoxide accident three years ago when she was nineteen. She’d missed a year of college trying to deal with everything. “Yeah, I know, but that doesn’t mean you should just give up, Olivia.”

Olivia lifted a shoulder. “It sure would be easier.” She moved to the window and peered out. “The ivy is still burning.”

Lark bit her lip, trying to figure out what to say. Olivia had always been like this: fine one moment, depressed the next. She’d taken her mother’s death from cancer hard. Even so, Lark didn’t understand why Olivia found it so easy to just let herself disappear. She’d done it before—forgetting to eat. Not getting out of bed. Even after all Lark had been through, she didn’t react like that. Sometimes it made it hard to be Olivia’s friend.

“I hope the building doesn’t catch fire,” Olivia murmured. She was leaning against the windowsill now, as if zombies hadn’t just tried to climb in that very spot.

“Stop it, Olivia. You drive me crazy,” Lark said, using the only weapon she had left to cheer up her friend. She poked her until Olivia laughed.

“Okay, okay. I’ll be good. Give me some of that chocolate,” Olivia said.

Lark dug under the mattress and pulled out their last bar. “This is it, you know.”

Olivia nodded solemnly. “Well, if you hadn’t barricaded the floor, we’d be able to check the vending machines downstairs.

“Oh please, this again? We would’ve died if we hadn’t closed off the doors. We were lucky the dorm was mostly empty because of the football game or we would never have been able to lock ourselves in here.” Lark absently broke the candy bar in half as she remembered dragging heavy furniture out of the lounge to put in front of the stairwell doors. They’d kept themselves alive for four days now. She wasn’t sure how much longer they could last without doing something drastic. She offered Olivia some of the candy and then flopped down on the bed.

“Yeah. Lucky,” Olivia said flatly, nibbling on the chocolate.

Lark rolled her eyes. She wasn’t sure if it was because she was a little older— because twenty-two is so old, she thought sarcastically—or if it was because she’d been fending for herself for so long, but she wasn’t as fatalistic about life as Olivia. She wanted to live. She’d worked her ass off after high school, after her parents died, saving for college. She was older than most of the rest of the students in her year, but she didn’t care. Her parents would have wanted her to do everything she could to have a life. She knew it.

“When was the last time you heard from your dad?” she asked Olivia, trying to distract her friend with something positive.

“Two days ago.”

“Two days ago. Okay,” Lark repeated. “So, he’ll be here really soon. The meteor fell, what, a couple weeks ago?”

“Yeah. If he’s still alive,” Olivia said, predictably.

“You can’t think like that, Olivia. We know a few things: the meteor was as big as the one that hit Russia last year. It broke apart in the atmosphere and managed to infect a large part of the population with…” Here she paused, trying to think of a way to put it. “With something that turns people into zombies, as ridiculous as that sounds.”

“It was ridiculous until it started spreading,” Olivia muttered. “And they started eating people. Then it went from ridiculous to horrible.”

Lark ignored her and kept talking. “Your dad got in touch with you before we lost the phones, and that was only a few days ago. Don’t forget, he’s coming from where? Outside Philadelphia?”

Olivia nodded. “There is no way he’s going to make it. We’re on the other side of the state from there. If he was going to make it, he’d be here already,” she said, contradicting what she’d said just a few minutes ago.

Lark drew breath to sigh again, loud and dramatic so that Olivia would know how aggravated she was, but a loud boom from the hall made her flinch.

“What was that?” Olivia asked, her voice rising. “Oh my God, what was that?” She stood up and wrapped her arms around herself, eyes wide. The chocolate she’d been holding fell to the floor.

Lark pushed herself up from the bed, stuffing the last of the chocolate into her mouth. “I’ll go see,” she mumbled through the sweet treat.

“Oh, God. Be careful, Lark,” Olivia said, going with her to the door. The boom sounded again.

“I think someone’s knocking on the stairwell door,” Lark said, opening their door and peering into the hall. It was dark; only the emergency lighting still worked. The audio-visual armoire she’d dragged in front of the metal door was still secure.

“I’m going to bang on it,” she said, edging into the hall. She checked both ways, still paranoid that something might have gotten in, but there was no sign of anything. She took a deep breath and walked down to the armoire. It wasn’t far from their door because the floor’s lounge was only a few rooms down from them. When she got to the door, she lifted her bat and banged on the top part, barely visible behind the furniture.

When another boom-boom-boom came from the door, she jumped. She could hear some muffled shouting. “Is anyone there?” she yelled.

“Olivia?” a man’s voice called through the thick metal door.

“Oh my God, I think it’s your dad,” she called to her friend. Her heart had started banging against her ribs again. Zombies didn’t talk. Even if it wasn’t Olivia’s dad, he was human. She had to let him in. “I’m going to move the armoire.”

“Are you sure?” Olivia came out into the hall.

“No, don’t come out here! Stay in the room. Seriously, Olivia. We can’t risk both of us and if it isn’t your dad…” she trailed off, knowing Olivia would understand all the things she didn’t say. Things like: At least you have family and If I die, no one will miss me.

The boom sounded again, a little louder. “Jesus, hold your damn horses,” she muttered under her breath, putting her back against the heavy armoire. She heaved with all her strength. Another boom and then she had the door exposed. She tapped on it with her bat. The returning boom was slightly less frantic. “I’m going to open the door!” she yelled, hoping they could hear her. “Stand back or you’ll get a whack in the head.” She wondered if they’d take her seriously, but it didn’t matter. She couldn’t afford to be weak. If they were zombies, or infected, she’d push them down the stairs with her bat and re-barricade the door, with no regrets.

“Is it them?” Olivia called anxiously.

“I don’t know yet.” Lark put her right foot on the handle, balancing so she would have both hands free if she needed them. This way she could lunge forward and put her weight behind her movement. “Okay, let’s do this,” she murmured. Heart in her throat, she counted to five under her breath. “Stay in the room with the door shut, ok?” she told Olivia. It wasn’t until she heard the door click that she shoved down on the handle, then kicked the stairwell door open. The moment she set eyes on the men in the dim space, she knew they weren’t zombies.

****

Benedict Greene, Ben to his friends, stared at the ridiculously beautiful woman holding the bat over her head. She had light blond hair cut in funky chunks so that it slid over her shoulders as she moved. Her light grey eyes snapped with bravado and he could tell by the way she held the bat that she wasn’t afraid to use it. The fact that she was tiny didn’t seem to faze her at all. Good lord, she barely comes up to my shoulder, he thought, smiling tentatively at her. She wasn’t a zombie, thank God, but she also she wasn’t his daughter. “Are you Lark?” he asked, knowing his daughter’s roommate had holed up with her. In fact, he was pretty certain the only reason Olivia was still alive was because her roommate had an innate instinct for survival. He’d figured that out after numerous phone conversations with Olivia.

She slowly lowered the bat. “Mr. Greene?”

Benedict stared at her, trying to think. He was so damn tired, and the woman in front of him was so freaking beautiful.

“Mr. Greene is a little formal for the zombie apocalypse, don’t you think?” his best friend Dillon said from behind him, saving him from being a total idiot, like usual.

The woman’s eyes snapped to his best friend and she lifted her eyebrows. “You must be ‘Uncle Dillon,’” she said, the fingers on her bat twitching as if she wanted to use air quotes to emphasize her statement. She refused to let go of the weapon, though. He liked that. She was plucky.

“Call me Ben,” he said, scraping his wits off the ground.

“I’m Lark. Lark Stone, Olivia’s roommate,” she said, stepping back. She looked around, then studied him and Dillon closely.

She must be checking we aren’t infected, Ben thought approvingly.

The moment they’d stepped through the door, she began shoving at a huge entertainment center, trying to get it back across the entrance. She looked like David fighting Goliath. He couldn’t believe she’d managed to move the thing all by herself.

“Leave it off,” he said. “We’ll be heading out again soon enough. Is Olivia okay?” He’d managed to keep it together all through the hellish ride here, but now he wanted to see his daughter. He might have been way too young to have a kid when she was born, and he might not have been able to see her as often as he’d liked when she was growing up because of her mom, but he loved her, regardless. He needed to know Olivia was okay.

She narrowed her eyes at him, but left off shoving at the furniture. “She’s fine. This way.” She pivoted and led the way down the hall.

Ben glanced at Dillon and caught his friend looking at her ass. He shoved at him, giving him a look.

Dillon shrugged, smiling, then turned to scan the hall behind them. Ben was having a hard enough time dealing with his sudden and completely unwanted attraction to his daughter’s friend himself. The last thing he needed was for Dillon to be just as stupid.

She stopped in front of a door and knocked three times. When nothing happened, she frowned. “Shit,” she said under her breath. “Olivia?” she called, louder. Still no response. “Jesus Christ, she was just standing there a minute ago.” Lark’s voice was strained as she reached for the knob.

“Fuck,” Ben said, shoving her aside and opening the door. What he saw in the room made his blood run cold.

****

Lark darted past Olivia’s dad, swinging her bat at the creature latched onto her roommate’s arm. She didn’t cry out, or curse, or do anything except concentrate on obliterating the zombie’s head. The thing was half-burned, and only had one good arm, but his teeth, his fucking teeth were intact and sunk deep into Olivia’s forearm. Lark couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t see anything except the fucker’s mouth stuck to her best friend. The best friend she’d ever had in her entire life, even with the moodiness. She would not let this nightmare creature have Olivia.

“Die motherfucker,” she muttered, swinging again and again. She banged at its face grimly, pointlessly, and then a blade came out of nowhere and sliced through its neck like magic. The zombie’s eyes went white-hot, and then the entire thing vaporized in a flash, leaving the acrid smell of ozone to linger in the room like a shroud. “Fuck,” she said hoarsely.

Olivia fell down, clutching her arm to her chest. Lark dropped her bat and went to her knees next to her. She grabbed her friend’s hand and looked up, tears screwing with her vision. Olivia’s hand was already cold, dammit. Dillon, Olivia’s dad’s best friend held a machete over them, panting. His face was white and he swallowed, hard, as though he needed desperately to throw up.

“Fuck,” Lark said again as reality crashed back into her. She tossed the bat out of the way and leaned over Olivia, ripping at the sheet on her bed. She tied it around Olivia’s upper arm, tourniqueting the wound. In the back of her mind, she knew it was too late, but she couldn’t accept that Olivia was already gone. She just couldn’t.

“Dad,” Olivia said quietly, voice thick.

Lark’s let go of the sheet as her heart broke. She looked at her best friend’s face. Fuck. Olivia knew she was dead. “Olivia, don’t talk. We’ll get you out of here,” she found herself saying, uselessly.

“Dad, I love you,” Olivia said, looking past Lark. Her eyes shifted. “You too, Uncle Dillon.” She gritted her teeth and looked at Lark. “You’re the sister I never had.”

Lark’s face was wet, and she couldn’t see right. She felt Olivia’s dad near her, his body large and warm and she had to stifle the urge not to lean back to feel how alive he was. “You too, Olivia. You too,” she said instead, clutching her friend’s hand. It felt wrong. Cold and corpse-like. The stupid zombie virus worked so fucking fast.

“Dad,” Olivia said again, and then he was even closer to Lark on the floor.

Lark stared at him, trying to decipher the look on his face, then gave up. Nothing could be as horrible as losing a child, she realized.

He reached out, hand shaking, and touched her face. “It’s okay, little Olivia,” he said, and Lark didn’t know how he did it, but he smiled at his daughter. “It’s okay. You go to sleep now.”

Lark sucked in a horrible breath as she realized what he meant. She had a moment to think, oh no, and then she understood. His green eyes, so like Olivia’s, glittered with unshed tears.

“We love you, Olivia,” Dillon said, still standing. He looked behind him quickly, then dropped down and kissed Olivia quickly on the forehead before standing back up.

“Dad, take care of Lark,” Olivia managed, but her skin was already changing.

“No, no, no,” Lark said, gripping Olivia’s hand more tightly. “No—”

“Promise—” Olivia said, eyes filming over. “Dillon, promise—”

Lark looked at him just as he glanced at her. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen such devastation in a man’s eyes, but it didn’t scare her. She understood. She’d felt the same way when her parents died. She felt the same way now, with Olivia on the floor of their dorm, no longer laughing and alive. Above them, Dillon stood sentinel, his face carved from granite. He was just as wrecked as Mr. Greene— no, he said to call him Ben, Lark thought idiotically. She forced herself to let go of Olivia’s hand and back up.

“I promise,” Ben said, voice breaking.

“We promise,” Dillon said, hands clenching on the machete so hard his knuckles went white.

Lark looked back at Olivia. Her friend smiled faintly, then her head lolled to the side. “Oh, no. No,” she murmured as her best friend’s eyes flashed white, then settled into dead grey. She blinked, and faster than she could comprehend, Ben snatched the machete from Dillon’s hands and chopped her head off with one horrible swipe. Olivia’s body flared white-hot, then vanished with a crackle of electricity that had Lark choking. She staggered up, barely making it to the bathroom before she vomited all the chocolate she’d just eaten into the toilet.

Evernight / Amazon US  / AllRomance eBooks

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PREVIEW CHAPTER ONE: Colors of Us by Sandra Bunino #NewAdult

Colors of Us
by Sandra Bunino

McAvery Brothers, 1

Everything she knew to be true fell apart. Then fell apart again…

Michelle Willis is running from her past. What better place to hide than in the anonymity of New York City. Finding refuge in a tiny SoHo art gallery, she rebuilds her life one painting at a time.

A wrong turn sends Hunter McAvery on a crash course with disaster. He fights his own demons by following his big brother’s lead – drinking and bed-hopping his way through Manhattan.

A glance at Michelle’s self-portrait triggers emotions Hunter can’t tamp down. Driven to meet the artist, he discovers a fiery chemistry as their lives collide. But when their past threatens to tear them apart, can their love survive?

COLORS OF US

McAvery Brothers, 1

Sandra Bunino Copyright © 2014

~Chapter One~

Michelle woke with a gasp and sat straight up in her bed. Fear slithered down her spine as she pulled the dampened sheet to her chest. It was just a dream. Just a dream. Rubbing her temples, she recalled the last time she’d had a nightmare. A month ago? Maybe two. What used to be an almost nightly occurrence dwindled to one every few months. The ever-increasing time between bad dreams meant she’d come a long way from the day she’d stepped off the bus at Penn Station and started a new life in The Big Apple.

She rubbed the knot of tension under her shoulder. “Shake it off, Willis. Everyone has nightmares once in a while,” she muttered before taking a deep breath and blowing it out slowly through her lips.

Sunlight streamed into her tiny studio, and the familiar morning noises of her neighbors wrapped around her like a warm blanket. The single mom with the stomping toddler in the apartment above her, the elderly man from down the hall who shuffled past her door on his way to the corner bakery, even the newlyweds next door who enjoyed a lusty morning quickie before heading to work—all provided a degree of comfort that everything was right in the world.

Stretching her arms, she caught her reflection in the mirror on the wall. Light shadows replaced the dark circles that had once resided under her eyes, thanks to sleep and her daily workout routine in her building’s basement. She’d hoped to exchange sessions on the worn-out treadmill with early morning runs through the streets of neighboring Tribeca, but she wasn’t ready for it yet. Baby steps.

Michelle slipped out of bed, padded across the room to her kitchenette, and ripped open a store-brand oatmeal packet. Turning the faucet knob to hot, she dumped the contents into a chipped mug and held it under the steamy water for a moment. Flakes of dried oats floated to the top as she sprinkled a packet of sugar over the meager meal. Stirring the contents together, she moved to her closet and kicked the door open. There wasn’t much to choose from in her tiny storage space. A few pairs of black pants, blouses, and sweaters from the consignment store made up her work wardrobe, yoga pants and sweatshirts were weekend clothes, and one little black dress reserved for gallery events.

The metal hangers rattled as she pulled her best pair of dress slacks and black sweater from the closet and slipped them on. A quick trip to the bathroom to brush her teeth, tie her long hair into a neat bun, and swipe on some blush and lip gloss completed her morning routine. She grabbed her backpack and rushed down two flights of stairs to her second-hand bike, which was locked to the rack in the narrow lobby. Turning the numbers to the correct combination, she freed the chain from the lock and wound it around her seat. A gust of wind ruffled a few strands of hair loose from her bun as she pushed the front door open and walked her bike down the short flight of cement stairs to the sidewalk.

Mounting her bike, she sucked the cool city air through her nose and released it slowly from her mouth. The tight muscles in her back relaxed while she pedaled, slow at first, until the light changed and the cars emptied out of the side street. She pumped her feet and rode as fast as they would take her to the end of the block, enjoying the cool air hitting her face, making her feel alive. Turning left onto busy Canal Street, she stopped pedaling, allowing the wheels to coast on their own as she threaded between cars, street carts, and the hundreds of pedestrians on Chinatown’s streets. The air nipped at her knuckles, reminding her she’d need her knit gloves and hat soon.

She wished she’d had a dollar for each time someone called her crazy for riding a bike in Manhattan. There were more deaths of city cyclists than any other accident in New York, well-meaning people said. They never understood. Being perched on the seat of her used bike meant security and control to Michelle. Every muscle in her legs flexed and contracted with the rhythm of her tires along the pavement, a feeling she never quite had while walking on the sidewalk. Mass transit was out of the question for her. She’d never forget how she’d felt like a trapped animal with nowhere to escape the

one and only time she rode the subway. Buses were out too, which was why she paid the exorbitant rent for her little Chinatown studio.

Gliding onto Mercer Street, where the smooth city asphalt turned into the original cobblestone streets, was her favorite part of the ride. Every bump she hit as she passed galleries, shops, restaurants, and lofts reminded her of how lucky she was to be living and working in the trendy art district of SoHo. Her tires bounced over the uneven road as she steered into the alley behind the gallery. Her breaks squeaked and she coasted to a stop. Swinging her leg over the bike’s frame, she leaned it on the fence while examining her overgrown container garden.

Most of the fruits and vegetables had long been picked, not that there were many in the small assortment of pots and planters Miranda allowed her to keep in the narrow alley. A single red pepper shone bright at the top of one of her staked plants. She twisted it off by the stem and dropped it into her backpack before chaining her bike to the fence. It was the last of the free, fresh additions to her plain iceberg lettuce salad lunches. Pulling the cord that hung around her neck from under her shirt, she found the key belonging to the gallery, stuck it in the old lock, and turned it until she heard a click. Pushing open the door, she entered Miranda’s office and studio.

“Morning, sunshine,” her friend Cheyenne sang as her heels clicked along the wood floor.

Michelle closed the door and smiled at her friend. “Pink, huh?” Cheyenne’s hair glowed like a cotton candy aura around her face.

Cheyenne ran her fingers through her hair. “You like?” She changed her hair color like most women changed their nail polish.

“It’s cute, but I still like the purple,” Michelle said as she dropped her backpack onto the seat of the desk chair. “I can’t believe it’s already the last Arts Walk of the season. Any action?”

“Nah, but it’s still early. With the summer tourists gone, we’ll just get the well-heeled urbanites out for a girls’ day later this afternoon after they’ve downed a few martinis.” Cheyenne tipped back her head and made a drinking gesture with an imaginary cocktail. SoHo’s Arts Walk event happened the third Thursday of each month from May through September. Art galleries opened their doors to visitors in hopes of making their somewhat-intimidating spaces more accessible to curious window shoppers. Some served refreshments, while others invited various artists to show their art and chat with potential customers.

Michelle chuckled. She knew the rich girlfriend group type well. There were three kinds of people who frequented SoHo’s galleries: tourists, who never bought anything; rich housewives from Manhattan and neighboring Connecticut and New Jersey, who acted as though they were in the market for something but rarely made purchases; and real art lovers, who artists hoped would fall in love with their work. Most of the Arts Walk crowd belonged in the first two categories, but Michelle didn’t mind. She loved the extra visibility for her own work, which hung near the window in the gallery.

Like many of her New York City peers, Michelle prayed someone would fall in love with her work, or at least like it enough to make a purchase. But unlike many of her counterparts, Michelle’s work was on display in an actual SoHo gallery. Most new artists waited years for an opportunity like it. It was sheer luck she had met Miranda Locke two years ago. Michelle had been almost out of money and had no clue what to do next. In Michelle’s eyes, Miranda took pity on her when she walked into Locke Gallery for a job, but as Miranda explained, it was Michelle’s work that won her over. “You’ll make it big one day, little one” was one of the gallery owner’s favorite sayings.

“Any word from Miranda?” Her boss was in Europe on a multicountry art tour, looking for new collections to bring to Locke Gallery. Miranda was more than Michelle’s boss. She was her friend, confidante, and the person who had made it possible for Michelle to live and work in New York doing the only thing she’d ever wanted to do. She missed chatting with Miranda on a daily basis and counted the days until her closest friend returned home.

“Not yet, but I’m sure she’ll message us later to see how the Arts Walk went.”

Michelle nodded and turned to the coffee machine perched on the table in the office. “I need coffee. I’ll brew a pot, then meet you up front.” She opened the cabinet where the coffee was kept.

“Oh damn. I made the last of it yesterday and forgot to buy more on my way in. But there were some free coffee coupons under the door this morning from that new Primo Java place that opened

down the block.” Cheyenne pointed to the orange certificates on the table. “If you feel like running over there, grab me a cup too.”

Michelle eyed the colorful slips of paper. “Hey, we can’t turn down free coffee, now, can we? Let’s get a fancy overpriced cup of something sinful. Caramel macchiato, mocha brûlée, what’s your poison?”

“Sounds like you know what you’re talking about. I’ll leave it up to you.” Cheyenne waved her hand and headed back to the main gallery, her stilettos clicking along the hardwood floor.

Michelle stuck the certificates in her pocket and followed Cheyenne to the front. “I’ll surprise you with something yummy.” Extras, like gourmet coffee drinks, weren’t in her budget, so it was a rare but appreciated treat. Pushing open the gallery door, she pulled her bun free from the elastic and shook her hair loose as the wind combed through it and whipped the ends along her shoulders. She tucked her chin to her chest and quickened her pace, thankful the coffee shop was on the corner.

The leaves on the lone tree standing tall in the patch of dirt dug into the sidewalk had already begun to change—yet another reminder summer was almost over. She swung open the coffee shop door, and the rich scent of brewed coffee wafted to her nostrils, sending her taste buds into overdrive. The small shop buzzed with activity. She scanned the gleaming floors and freshly painted walls. It seemed the neighborhood approved of the new shop. Patrons with their noses in laptops and tablets took up every available stool, sipping from plastic-lidded cardboard cups at high tables. Shuffling to the back of the line, she stood on her tiptoes and visually followed the long parade of heads in line waiting to place an order. Michelle estimated a twenty-minute wait at least, but she’d make the sacrifice for a free cup of specialty coffee.

“You would’ve thought this was the only coffee shop in the city,” a husky voice said behind her.

Michelle turned and acknowledged the voice with a casual nod while keeping her eyes averted downward. Her glance rested on a pair of black boots—scuffed and broken-in, like old friends. She had a pair just like them. Her gaze trailed to the frayed cuffs of worn jeans and roamed up denim-wrapped muscular legs.

“But I guess I shouldn’t complain, since it’s a free cup of coffee,” the graveled voice continued.

Her gaze made its journey along faded jeans to a certificate identical to the ones she had. His thumbnail caught and released the edge of the card, making a clicking noise. A hint of an intricate tattoo peeking out of his leather jacket sleeve caught her eye. “Me too.” Michelle dug the certificates out of her pocket and glanced at the voice’s owner. She held her breath for a moment as she scanned his face, starting with a firm mouth outlined with dark stubble that extended past his square jaw. Her gaze roamed to shoulder-length hair that covered one brown eye flecked with green. Realizing he was aware of her stare, she glanced away as heat crept up her neck.

“Those cookies look pretty good, though. I guess corporate America knows what they’re doing with these chain restaurants. Send local businesses a few freebies to get them into the shop, then hook them on expensive coffee and baked goods.”

Michelle gladly focused on the pastry case so she didn’t gawk at the man behind her. She spied her favorite cookie, peanut butter chocolate chip, and licked her lips.

“You work around here?” he asked.

Michelle turned to the stranger again. He closed some of the space between them, leaving her an option to step back. An option she chose not to take. He casually brushed the hair from his eye, revealing a jagged scar above his eyebrow. Her fingers itched to reach up and touch the imperfection that somehow seemed perfect on his face.

His lips curled upward. “You don’t have to tell me. Shit. I usually don’t chat up strangers.” He held up his index finger. “Correction: I usually don’t chat up strangers in a coffee line. I chat them up behind the bar. Occupational hazard.” He scrubbed his fingers over the scruff on his face.

“I work in a gallery. I take it you’re at one of the bars,” she said quietly.

“I’m at McAvery’s.” He tilted his head and smiled. “Ever go there?”

Michelle tried not to stare at the way his lips showcased straight white teeth. He could melt an icicle with his smile. She met his gaze. “No, but I ride past it on my way to work. I love the facade. It’s a great building.”

He nodded. “It’s one of the oldest bars in the city. I’m Hunter, by the way.” He placed the certificate in his left hand and offered her his other. “Ride, as in a motorcycle?”

“Michelle. And no, ride as in a bicycle.” She slipped her hand into his. The heat of his palm warmed her fingers. His sleeve rode up a corded forearm, revealing more of his tattoo before his sleeve covered it again. The colors and intricate design intrigued her, even though she wasn’t sure what it depicted.

“Looks like you’re up, Michelle. Pick your poison.” Hunter nodded to the counter.

Michelle pulled her hand away and ordered two caramel macchiato coffees with extra whipped cream.

“Anything else, miss,” asked the barista.

Her mouth watered as she glanced at the dish of peanut butter chocolate chip cookies in the pastry case and remembered her empty pockets. “Thanks, but just the coffee,” she said, pushing the certificates across the counter.

The barista turned to Hunter. “What can I get you?”

“Coffee, black, and....” He turned to Michelle. “What do you recommend?”

Michelle’s gaze darted to the plate of her favorites. “I’d get the peanut butter chocolate chip cookie.”

Hunter held up two fingers. “Two of those, please.”

Michelle collected her drinks, took a sip from one of them, and closed her eyes. The creamy foam warmed her throat.

“That good?” Hunter asked after he passed his voucher and a few dollars to the barista.

“Yeah, really good. Have a nice day.” Michelle took another sip and turned toward the door to leave.

“Hold on a sec.” He pulled one of the cookies out of the bag and handed it to Michelle. “Thanks for the recommendation.”

She shook her head. “Oh, no thanks. Save it for later. I gotta get back to work.”

He smiled. “Please take it as a thank you for keeping me company in that long line.”

Michelle looked from the cookie to his golden-honey eyes. “Thanks.” Reaching for it, her fingers brushed against his, sending a tingle to places in her that hadn’t been touched in a long time. She lingered a moment longer than she should have. Glancing at him, she saw a sly smile form on his lips. She took the treat and turned before the heat creeping up her neck became visible on her cheeks.

“See you around.” Hunter called.

Michelle pushed the door open and hoped the cool air would restrain the heat building in her belly. Heading in the direction of the gallery, she took a bite of the cookie and savored the sweet and creamy goodness dancing on her tongue. The flavors of her favorite cookie teased her taste buds as she entered the gallery.

“What are you all smiles about? And why are you all flushed?” Cheyenne asked with her hands on her hips.

“I just ate something delicious. Here, I saved you half.” She handed her the coffee cup and half the cookie.

Cheyenne took a bite and groaned. “Oh, yeah. This is good. So good. Were they giving these out too?”

“Nope. The guy I talked to while we stood in line bought a couple and gave me one.”

Cheyenne held her finger up as she chewed and swallowed. “Hold on. You met a guy?”

“I didn’t say I met a guy. You make it sound sordid,” Michelle said, swatting her friend’s arm. “But, yeah. I guess I did. His name is Hunter, and he works at McAvery’s.”

Cheyenne’s mouth dropped open. “Hunter McAvery?”

Michelle shrugged. “I guess. Why? Do you know him?” It wouldn’t surprise her if Cheyenne did. Cheyenne seemed to go out every night. Concerts, clubs, bars—you name it. If there was a party in the city, Cheyenne found it.

“Hunter and his brother, Alex, are always pictured in The Village Mouth at the best parties and club openings. Total players. In fact, I heard Miranda and Alex used to be involved for a while. I asked her about it once, but she wouldn’t talk about it.”

“You read about that in The Village Mouth, that weekly gossip rag? No wonder she wouldn’t talk about it. It’s a bunch of trash.”

Cheyenne rolled her eyes. “Did he ask you out?”

Michelle snorted, and her mind wandered to the man with well-worn boots and a eyes she could easily get lost in. “No. We just talked while waiting for our free coffees. End of story.” A group of women walked in before Cheyenne could respond. “Here’s the first group of gawkers.”

The door buzzer continued to sound all day as people entered and left the gallery. Michelle ducked into the office for a quick lunch and to check the gallery’s e-mail account when she noticed a message from Miranda.

Hi! I hope the last Arts Walk brings in some business. My cat sitter messaged me and is running late today. If it’s not too busy, would one of you run over to my apartment and feed Fuzzy for me?

Michelle smiled. Miranda loved her cat, and it killed her to leave her precious Fuzzy for a month. She tapped a message back and hit send before returning her salad back to the small refrigerator under Miranda’s desk. “Chey. Miranda needs one of us to run over and feed Fuzzy. I’ll go since it’s my lunch break.” Michelle called into the gallery as she pulled open the desk drawer and removed the spare set of keys to Miranda’s building and apartment.

“No problem. Things have quieted down here. Take your time.” 

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PREVIEW the First Chapter of THE SUMMER HEAT by Elodie Parkes #FreeRead

The Summer Heat
by Elodie Parkes

Blurb:

When lifelong friends Nate and Evan watch the arrival of a new neighbor, they never expect to find their friendship rocked by the lovely Annabel who moves into the empty house next door.

Annabel likes both Nate and Evan the moment she meets them. As they all grow close, will she be forced to choose between these gorgeous men?

Be Warned: menage sex (MFM)

#####

The Summer Heat

Elodie Parkes

Contemporary, ménage romance

Chapter One

“Watch out, Nate. That thing’s lethal.” Evan burst out laughing as the chainsaw blade bounced off the tree stump and onto the grass, forcing his friend to cling on tight to the handle.

“Fucking thing has a mind of its own.” Nate turned the chainsaw off and laid it down on the gravel path. “I reckon the trunk’s short enough now to dig the roots out.” He picked up a spade that leaned against a neighboring tree.

Evan grinned. “Maybe we need to take the two remaining branches off.” He ran a hand over his forehead and took off the clear framed, safety glasses he wore. After tossing them down on the grass, he pulled off his T-shirt. Sweat trickled down between his muscled shoulders, and he wiped the back of his neck with his shirt, a frown creasing his forehead. “It’s already hot. Let’s get this finished.” He strode around Nate to the path, and retrieved the chainsaw. Within a few moments, the tree stump stood devoid of the remaining branches.

Nate shook his head at Evan. “You should be wearing the glasses and the gloves I gave you.”

Evan grunted. “It’s done. Don’t fuss.”

Nate grinned broadly at his friend’s gung-ho dismissal. “Hey, it’s not fussing. A flying sharp splinter could take your eye out.”

Evan’s returning grin held affection. “Yeah, I know, I just wanted it done.” He placed the power tool on the path and picked up one of the bottles of water standing next to Nate’s supply of work gloves and safety glasses. He poured some over his face and then took a drink. “Warm.” He grimaced at Nate, put the bottle down, and picked up a spade.

Nate shrugged and then drove the edge of his spade into the soil around the tree.

Evan joined him digging silently at the base of the tree stump.

The tree grew on the edge of their garden, and they’d had complaints from people because it dropped branches on the sidewalk. Nate had dutifully hired a tree doctor who discovered disease caused by a virulent beetle pest. The prognosis for the tree was bad. It needed cutting down, and the tree doctor informed Nate they were lucky the other trees hadn’t contracted the beetle.

The Saturday morning sun blazed in the June sky. Heat shimmered off the sidewalk. Nate and Evan were the only people out in their front yards. The noise of their work tools were the only sounds, as not even the seagulls that often wheeled overhead ventured from the cool of the ocean yet.

Nate and Evan’s house was one of the largest in the rows of three story houses built along the river in a modern development unimaginatively called Riverside Mews. Narrow lanes that led to the river path separated the rows. Somehow, patches of white sand always settled on the paths, though the nearest beach was a mile away. Each house had its own river access, through a gate at the end of the back yard to a riverbank public path, but there was no boat access, no jetties. The public path wound along by the river from the seaside town close by and on into the countryside. The house to the right of Nate and Evan’s place was occupied by a small family, but the house to the left had been empty and for sale all year.

The roar of a large van engine broke the hot, morning silence as it turned into the street and thumped over each speed hump in the road, until it drew up in front of the empty house next door.

Nate gave the van a cursory glance, but Evan leaned on his spade and watched as two men leapt out of each side of the van. He read the name of a removal firm and their logo emblazoned across the side of the vehicle and discovered it was from a city in the north of the state. It piqued his interest, so he continued with his unashamed staring.

The men who’d alighted from the cab walked to the back of the van and opened its double doors, just as a pale blue, old model Mustang drove up and parked a short distance away.

A young woman got out of the Mustang.

Evan liked her shapely body right away. He straightened up for a better view and admired the swing of her hips. Without taking his eyes off her, he murmured to Nate. “Check her out.”

Nate stopped hacking at the sun-baked soil around the remaining tree trunk and looked around. He gazed at the young woman for a few seconds and then turned back to his job. “Sexy. Don’t stare.”

Evan resumed digging, but he stole glances as the two workers unloaded the items from the removal van. When the young woman walked up her front path, Evan took in the attractive sight of her thighs in the cutoff jeans she wore, and then raised his gaze to her pretty face.

Her eyes met his.

Evan’s stomach muscles clenched. Surprise at the reaction in his gut and a shock of sexual attraction spiked through him.

The young woman’s expression held a hungry, lonely look that woke dormant emotions deep inside him.

****

She’d been halfway down the street, when Annabel saw the two guys working in their front yard. She took in the muscled torso of the guy who openly stared at the moving van, and the hard bottom of the guy digging. They’re yummy.

Edgy with pent up sexual energy, Annabel longed for a man in her life. The summer heat didn’t help. She eyed every guy with his shirt off. Every couple kissing on the beach or in the park as she walked caught her attention. In the six months since she’d split with her then boyfriend, she missed sex the most. She didn’t miss his moods and his lazy ass around her apartment. She didn’t miss waiting up for him at night, hoping he’d make love to her, only to find he’d sleep on the couch. When he’d confessed he’d found someone else, a kind of relief had flooded her. She wanted something different, real love, a passion so consuming she’d be rocked by it.

Annabel checked out the two gorgeous guys working in their garden again. She knew “bare chest guy” said something about her to “gorgeous denim clad ass” because he immediately looked around at her. She gazed back at the one whose admiring stare sent waves of pleasure through her as she went up the path to her new house. A huge pull of attraction to the men startled her, and as she opened her front door, she considered them. They’re so hot, wonder if they’re single. Maybe they don’t even live there. Maybe they’re gardeners. I hope not. I hope they live there. Even if we’re only friends, they’re someone beautiful to look at.

Her house waited cool and quiet. She raced through it, relishing the space, and the white walls where the sunlight bounced back and dazzled her as she pulled up the roller blinds. She opened the patio doors and dashed out, down the path, and through the gate to the riverside. The water, dappled in brilliant greens, sailed by, looking cool and deep. The river widened there on its way to the sea, and across it lay open countryside. Annabel had loved the house as soon as she saw it. She loved the street, the funny little access lanes, the palm trees in her back yard, and close to the lovely seaside town where she’d found her new job, the house exuded a welcoming atmosphere. Everything was perfect.

Annabel didn’t have much furniture and instructed the removal men about where to place it. She’d dropped into the place a couple of days before and turned on the built-in Westinghouse, piled bottled water in there and two six packs of beer, and then looked out at the river. The street had been silent, except for bird calls, and she’d assumed all the residents were at work. She was on vacation. Annabel went to the fridge and took out two bottles of water and two beers. She met the removal men in the hall as they placed the last item of her furniture there, an old, solid oak hall table.

“I guess you two could use a drink.” She held the bottles up against her chest, and as she handed them to the men, damp patches appeared on her T-shirt from the condensation on the bottles.

The younger of the two men gawked at her nipples peaking in the dampness and the cool of the air-con.

Annabel folded her arms over her breasts as she realized this. She gave them a polite smile. “Thank you. You’ve done a good job.” She directed a question at the removal man who’d taken charge of the proceedings, “Anything for me to sign?”

“I need to get the paperwork from the van.” They both turned to leave.

She followed them out of the door. As she walked down her path, she glanced over at the neighboring garden. Her breathing quickened at the sight of the gorgeous guys, both without shirts now, as they tugged at the tree stump. She hurriedly signed the form the removal man handed to her on a clipboard, and remained on the sidewalk as he and his assistant got in the van and started the engine. The van pulled away from the curb.

Annabel sauntered back to her front door. The noise of the van engine must have caught the attention of her possible neighbors. They both stopped work to look. She took the opportunity. With a smile, Annabel stepped across her lawn and crossed the narrow path to stand a short distance from the two men working in their garden.

“Hi, I’m Annabel, I’ve just moved in.” She waved at her new house unnecessarily, and continued, “Do you live here, are we neighbors?” As she said this, her gaze traveled over the naked torsos of first one man and then the other. Their faded and ripped jeans rode low on their hips. The taller man’s jeans hung especially low and a hint of his dark pubic hair showed. Annabel could hardly take her eyes off his hard stomach. Licking her lips, she tore her gaze away to look into the other man’s eyes as he shielded them from the sun with a gloved hand.

He’s lovely. Holy hell they’re gorgeous, both of them. I couldn’t choose one. I wouldn’t … it’d be both … if possible…Annabel waited for an answer, heart pounding. Being so close to such perfect specimens of manhood played havoc with her condensation-primed nipples, and she crossed her arms to hide the obvious hard peaks.

One of the men answered. His eyes held a smile, his voice, deep and breathtakingly sexy.

“Hi, yes, we live here. I’m Evan, this is Nate,” and he gestured at his companion.

Nate took off his work glove and offered his hand to Annabel.

She shook his hand, looking into his blue-gray eyes. Annabel soaked up the texture of Nate’s skin and the sexual heat in his expression. She enjoyed the quick clench that occurred in her pussy as he smiled invitingly. He’s delicious.

“Hi Annabel, it’s good to meet you.”

Then Evan offered his hand.

She left Nate’s sensual grasp reluctantly and put her hand into Evan’s. He cradled it, and his fingertips skimmed the inside of her wrist. The effect was so sexy her pussy drenched her panties. Fuck, I’d like to drag him down onto the grass and do wild things. It made her smile a little, when the thought, with both of them, popped into her head.

Evan gently let go of her hand as he spoke. “We didn’t think the house would ever be sold. These places go quickly usually, but that one lingered all year.”

Unable to help herself, Annabel stared wistfully at his lips and then into his eyes. Are they single? She questioned inwardly, but said, “I can’t think why it took so long to sell, but I’m glad it did, so that I could buy it. I love the place.”

Evan smiled. “We love it here. Close to our work, close to beaches, great place. If you need a hand with moving in let us know.”

A thrill of pleasure coursed through her at his kind offer. “Everything heavy is in place. The removal guys did that. I just have boxes to unpack. It’s a warm day. Do you want to come over for a cold drink when you’ve finished that job?” She nodded at the tree stump. “I’ll probably know if there’s anything I need help with by then, and need a break. Thank you so much for offering.” She glanced at Nate as she said this to make sure he knew she meant them both.

Nate answered. “Love to.”

She smiled at him. He’s so lovely. Both men had dark hair and blue eyes. Are they brothers? It’s too soon to ask. “Great, I’ll let you get on with digging out the tree.”

She left them and crossed the path to her house. Her heart beating fast, elated by the encounter, she sighed with longing. They’re both so attractive and seriously sexy. Imagine making out with one of them, or both. I definitely couldn’t choose which one. I’m desperate to kiss Evan or Nate, yeah … desperate.

****

Evan watched her walk away, and when she’d gone into her house, he let out a low whistle.

“She flirted with me. Did you see that, Nate? She kept looking at me and licking her lips.”

Nate stared at him for a moment. “She looked right into my eyes with meaning when I said we’d go around for a drink. I actually felt it in my balls. She’s hot. I might ask her out.”

A twinge of annoyance put a fleeting frown on Evan’s face. “I might ask her out.” Then he softened. “We’ll have to share her.”

With a laugh, Nate gave him a playful thump on the arm. “Let’s get this tree stump dealt with, and then we’ll go around to her place, and make ourselves indispensable.”

Evan accepted what Nate said, but as he dug, he determined that at the first moment an opportunity arose, he’d ask Annabel out. She sparked something in him. A deep need floated in his heart, and it made him want to see her again soon. Just set eyes on her.

Copyright Elodie Parkes 2014

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