Monday Night Bleacher Report ~ Guarding the Line Chapter 10, cont.

Ah, Atlanta. We have the largest division lead in the game and only one All-star. One sportswriter suggested we're the Rodney Dangerfield of sports at the moment. Yet, come September, I doubt anyone will recall how many each team send to Citi Field next week. But just for the record, I want to quote Yahoo Sports Network contributor Anthony Schrieber:

"To paraphrase a ranting diatribe, Freeman should not have to be pitted against a rookie -- scratch that, it is too early to even call him a rookie -- an MLB fetus -- there, that's better -- like Puig."

So, there. Let's go to dinner with Mike and Verity. Perhaps whats on their plates will be more palatable.

continued 

“And this is because of that freak show family you referred to?” Why couldn’t he let the topic rest.

Verity nearly upset her water glass, grabbing for her champagne. While she chugged the glass’s contents, she wondered whether to lie. “Look, I’ll try to explain. My father belongs to a… community, I guess you’d call it. He decided he wanted three wives at once. "With me so far?"

His eyes widened, but she didn't see judgement... yet. He nodded. 

“My mother deceived him about who she was and where she came from.  He had strict ideas about what he was looking for in a wife, and she didn’t meet his standards. He kicked us out of that community before I was born. I grew up with her people, in a place that didn’t accept me because of my father. Are you still following this?” Getting only another nod, she hurried to finish. “He changed his mind when I was twelve and took me away from her. He didn’t stick around, mind you, but I was raised with Sage and Rosemary after that. Only, because of my mother, that community didn’t accept me either. I don’t fit in anywhere, other than with my sisters, and maybe my grandfather.”

“So, this is a religious thing?”

“It’s exactly that.  But I questioned my own worth for a long time. I like to think I got past it, but most of my experiences add up to disappointment if I let myself forget I’m anyone other than the kid who wasn’t wanted anywhere.”

“My father teaches comparative religion at a small college in Oregon. I was raised to believe all religions have part of the answer, and to respect each and every one of them.  Nobody’s completely wrong and nobody’s completely right, according to my dad. Religion can be a cruel tool, a way of categorizing people without taking the time to see their worth as individuals. I didn’t mean to upset you, Vee. What I guess I was after was funny stories about sisters so close in age, but I can tell by the tears you’re trying not to shed, maybe there wasn’t much to laugh about. I’m sorry if you think I pushed you too fast and too hard.”

“I’m flattered you seem to care, actually.”

Her story rubbed every nerve in his body the wrong way.  Protective instincts he didn’t know he had made him want—make that need to—wring her father’s neck. “But now the three of you are close?”  He had to know somebody cared about her.

She smiled and the pain in her eyes seemed to lessen. “We are now. I mean, all we really have is each other.  We fight, don’t get me wrong.  We’re very different people.  Sage probably loves Him the most, and because he loves nobody, it makes her seek male approval and attention.  Rose is hot-tempered and judgmental. That aloofness is her way of protecting herself.  But when push comes to shove, we stick together, no matter what.”

“Now it’s my turn to be flattered,” he murmured.  “You must have a well-developed sense of self-protection too, but you opened up to me.”

“You didn’t give me much of a choice,” she pointed out, tearing her gaze away to glance meaningfully around them.  “Besides, I learned to get along with everybody.”

And keep that wall up to protect herself, too, he’d bet.  “I was right though.  I had to do something drastic to stop you from turning me into just another guy you needed to protect yourself from.”

“I was right, too,” she insisted, fixing him with a glare. “You are trouble on two legs.”

There was something about this woman. Intuition told him complete honesty was the way to go.  “I’m laid back, as you say, but when I see something I want, I go after it. If that makes me trouble in your book, then you need to spell it with a capital T.”

 “And you want more than sex from me?”

Mike knew he was dissatisfied with his life. He had a successful career, but needed something else. Though he couldn’t define why, he sensed she was that something. “I want to see you mad, so I can tease you into a better mood.  I want to see you tired, so I can rub your back and help you relax. I want to open my eyes in the morning and see you look at me the way you did when you walked in this restaurant, like everything’s right with your world because I’m in it. I want that a lot.”

“Why me?”

“Because every cell in my body tells me you’re special, maybe more than special.”  He reached to stroke her face, and when she pressed her face against his palm, emotion made his hand tremble. “The real question here is what you need in return. Be honest with me, because I’ve never felt anything like this in my life. Men can be hurt, too, Verity.”

The vulnerability in his eyes had her heart in a second.  His words were like balm to the deep wounds caused by rejection.  The attraction had sizzled between them since the moment she’d looked in his eyes at that tattoo parlor.  Somehow they had skipped right past the initial stages of attraction to the place where it was time for declarations.  The truth might make him run away screaming, but she wasn’t willing to let dishonesty screw this up.  Even if the truth ultimately might mean another rejection.  “I need someone who can accept the unacceptable.  Someone willing to be open-minded and not afraid of the unknown.  I hear what you’re saying, Mike. More than that, I feel it myself. I’ll be just as honest as you are, because that’s who I am.  Do I think I could see your face every morning and be sure everything is right with my world because you are there?  Yes.  But my world might be the thing that you can’t accept, the thing that makes you not want an ‘us’.”

“Take a chance on me, Verity.  I was raised to be open-minded.  I told you already, I’m not rational about you.  Quit over-thinking this.  Go with your gut the way you did last night.  You wanted me, and you reached for me.  Now I want more of you.  It’s that simple.”

Too deep in conversation to order, they'd waved off the waitress.  “Are you hungry?” he asked. “Or can we go someplace else?”

 “I took a cab, hoping you’d offer me a ride home.” 

He gave her a grin as he motioned for the check. “Rosemary suggested I ask to see your beach.”

“You need to stay away from my sisters." she punched his arm as they left the restaurant. He placed the arm around her, hugging her to his side.

“You mean those two unattractive women I had to beg for your phone number?"

She fervently wished her crystals had shown her how this turned out. He sure sounded special.

Be sure to drop by and show Jennifer Simpkins some love while she parties over the impending return of Derek Jeter to the Yankees line-up. Thanks for dropping in. Have a great week! 

Monday Night Bleacher Report & Guarding the Line Chapter 8

Despite the fact the Braves still lead the Nationals by a few games to occupy top spot in the division, I hope they make some serious moves before the trading deadline, because May sucked. Hopefully they'll get some help in the bullpen and possibly free up a lot of money by trading Uggla and BJ. Hate to say it, but after their performances so far this year it might do Hayward and Hudson some good in the minors for a little while. And is it just me, or does Freddie look like he's phoning it in?

~Sincerely, Worried Fan in SC

Let's hunt down Mike and Verity after their hot night in the 'real Obsidian VIP lounge'. At this point, I know more about where their story is heading than I do my favorite baseball team, and that ain't saying much for Atlanta.

Zipping up his jeans, Mike gazed at Verity’s sleeping form. The colorful tattoo covered her far better than the dark sheets, but he feared he’d wake her if he pulled them over her. Even wildcats needed their rest, and if she woke, he knew he’d stay for another round. She’d gotten him hard more times than he thought possible and he had a night game. Better go now while his legs could still hold him. Hopefully, the sated feeling suffusing his body would carry over to the game. Baseball was best played loose and, compared to how he felt now, he’d been wound far too tight. Quickly, he got into his shoes, unable to resist clawing at the half-healed design Thane had put on his arm. The itch reminded him to snag the small jar of ointment off the nightstand.

She swore she made he fragrant ointment herself. He'd try anything that might speed the healing process and stop the damn tattoo from itching. Like his mother, Vee was into all that New Age stuff, telling him to wear certain crystals and offering herbal remedies. Her tat was completely healed, while his had hit the annoying stage. Recalling the hour it’d taken him to trace the elaborate design on her back with his tongue made his lip tingle, a sensation that unbelievably  echoed in his cock, but he eased the curtains around the alcove closed and strode resolutely to the elevator.

The minute the door slid open on the lower floor, the amused expression in a pair of green eyes halted his late-morning walk of shame. Across from the elevator, visible through an open office door, the twin sat behind a desk. But, if they’re twins, wouldn’t their hair be the same color? Not to mention their eyes? Fraternal twins? He didn’t recall much from high school Biology. He eyed the deep blue shine on the sister’s glossy black short cut. Dyed. Had to be.

“Need help getting out of here?”  This time of day, Mike hadn’t expected to see anyone in the nightclub. He stepped off the elevator and paused at the door of the office, shoving the small jar into his pants pocket. Wracking his memory for this woman’s name turned up a blank. "Actually, I was wondering about that.”

Her mouth looked the same, yet her smile seemed different than Vee’s. “Would you like a cup of coffee before you go? I have a fresh pot.”

The vivid interest in her eyes made him uncomfortable. He felt like he was being considered for lunch meat by some predator. Those eyes looked like she’d knocked the bottoms out of Sprite bottles to make contact lenses. “No, thanks, but I’m not sure how to get out of here.” He watched warily when she stood, moving from behind the desk and slinking toward him, her movement all swaying hips and jiggling breasts. The way she brushed the back of her hand across his groin when she passed sent his spidey sense tingling.

“I’ll let you out, of course. Is my sister awake?”  He wondered if this one had stayed overnight or come in early to check on the little love nest upstairs. She turned in the direction opposite from the VIP bar and main nightclub.

“No, I closed the drapes. I think she’s down for the count.” He felt the woman was waiting to hear something else from him, but she pulled to a stop in front of a door only a few feet down the corridor from the elevator.  He felt awkward but figured he needed to say something. “Uh, thanks a lot for letting her off work last night, and for use of the apartment. I was afraid for a minute, out on the patio, I’d gotten her into trouble.”

Amusement reappeared on her face. “Never, she’s my sister. Although, I must admit, finding you two out there was quite a shock. Vee’s always so… controlled. Last night is hardly her style.” Abruptly, she changed the subject. “You don’t have a membership, do you?  I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before.”

“My friend has one. Last night was my first time here. I liked it. You have a great place.”  He expected a sales pitch. He could get a complimentary membership if he asked, most likely, since some clubs liked having sports figures in their place, but he wanted to get out of here.

“Thank you.” Her catlike eyes narrowed. “Who’s your friend?”

“Victor Montalvo. He’s our catcher.”

“What does he catch?”

Suppressing a groan, he peered hopefully over her shoulder at the door. “Baseballs. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go throw some at him.”

She leaned on the bar to open the heavy fire door. He could see a corridor with another door at the far end, but felt annoyed that she’d positioned her body so he had to touch her again to get past. “This opens onto the employee parking. There’s an elevator that will take you to street level or any other floor of the parking garage, but you’ll have to go down one flight of steps to get to it.” She held up something resembling a poker chip, but he'd have sworn her hands had been empty moments before. “Here’s a parking token, in case you used the garage. Come back and see me sometime, Mike. Just ask for me at the door. Goodbye, for now.”  She pressed the token into his hand and slid the palm of her other hand down his arm. Her nails raked the hair on his forearm.  He stepped into the corridor quickly, uninterested in the obvious come-on.

Once out the second door, he saw only two cars on the vast employee deck.  One was a sleek Jaguar, parked right by the door. That had to belong to the sister. The other was parked farther from the door. He had to walk past to reach the stairs. He  made a lap around the vehicle, noting the custom black powder coated rims, the expensive racing tires, the manual transmission, the custom paint job done in flat black, with racing stripes denoted only by their gloss. The custom license tag was cute, too, VSPONY. Her ride wasn’t something she paid for tending bar part-time for her sister. Every imaginable expensive car could be found in the player’s parking lot at Turner Field. This model Mustang cost about a hundred grand. 

Still thinking about the intriguing blonde, he loped toward the stairs. Nothing about either the car or the woman seemed controlled to him. She’d been pure, passionate heat. And, God, she said the sexiest, dirtiest things, too. It’d been her idea to go outside on the large deck on the roof and fuck against the railing overlooking the city. It'd be a while before he forgot that sexy voice urging him on as he took her from behind. Jogging down the stairs, he could still feel all that hair wrapped around his fist.  Knowing that anyone on the street below could hear them, or anyone looking out from one of the surrounding office buildings could see them, only made the encounter hotter, more surreal.

Something stabbed his hip, interrupting his reverie. He worked the little jar free from his jeans, pausing at the foot of the stairs to rub his fingers over the faceted amethyst-colored plastic jewel on the lid. The bauble matched her eyes. In the bright light of day, he had to admit, that color wasn’t exactly normal, either. Contacts had to be the explanation, he decided, having little trouble finding his car on the deserted deck. Unlocking the door, he felt sure the sisters were into wild-ass colored contact lenses.

But, damn, if last night hadn’t changed his luck, he was in for a long season. He dropped the little jar into the cup holder in his console and cranked the car.

He was still thinking about her as he regretfully showered her scent off his skin, tired yet strangely exhilarated. He wished he’d asked for her number. At least he knew how to find her sister, or one of the other employees probably had her number. He’d find her again, that was for sure, if he had to threaten to break Thane’s arm to get the tattoo artist to cough up her digits. The former motorcycle gang member was much less intimidating than what's-her-name. 

*****

When Vee opened her eyes, it took a moment to recall where she was. Damn, still at Obsidian. She stretched, luxuriating in the silky feel of the sheets against her skin and enjoying feeling tender in all the right places.  The whisper of the elevator door caused her to freeze.  Was he just leaving or had he come back? 

Crawling to the end of the bed, she peeked through the curtain to see Sage holding her shirt in one hand, her pants in the other. “Bring those over here,” she ordered with a chuckle.

Sage flashed a wicked grin. “Ah, you’re up. Sorry if I woke you, but I was just bringing you something from the kitchen. From the looks of him, you’re bound to be starved.” Vee made sure she kept the curtains around her neck when she reached out to snatch her clothes.

Yanking the top over her head, she realized she had no idea where her panties were. A shower would’ve been nice, but she definitely wasn’t risking one with Sage in the apartment. “Speaking of eating, what did you bring?” she called through the curtain.

She barely listened to the reply, but trying to find black underwear among black sheets in a room that was half-dark was proving futile. “A huge bowl of boiled shrimp, one of fruit, and some cold pasta salad. The usual stuff from the buffet, but it’s fresh and we’ve changed the recipes since you’re tried any of this. I thought we could eat and chat a bit if you were awake.  It’s nearly two.  He must have been as good as he looked.”

She gave up on the underwear, jerking her pants on quickly. “Marked not from birth but by a gifted hand, let not my blood see on my skin the decoration of man.” Hurry, hurry, she begged the Goddess. Sage’s muffled steps were coming toward the bed again. Any second now, she feared her sister would yank those curtains back before the spell could conceal her tattoo. An hour seemed to pass until she could twist her head and see nothing on her shoulder. Heart pounding, she pulled the curtains aside, only to find Sage standing right in front of her.

 Sage wrinkled her nose. “You need a shower, girl. You smell like he did—ripe.”

Vee felt her eyes widen. “You saw him this morning?”

“Uh, honey, it was almost afternoon when I saw him. I was doing the books when he came down. That was more than an hour ago.”

Vee gave her sister a hard look, to let her know she didn’t plan on sharing the details of her evening. Whatever teasing Sage had in mind, Vee had her own agenda.

She stepped around her sister, heading for the bar and the food, filling her plate before sitting on a bar stool. Sage did the same, apparently content to eat before beginning her inquisition. She relaxed too soon. “So, I didn’t see any phone numbers lying around, unless it’s on one of the nightstands. Are you planning to see him again?”

Cursing herself for giving her sister home field advantage, Vee tried not to think about whether or not he’d flushed all the condoms, realizing too late what Sage had spent the time doing while she’d been hurrying into her clothes. She gave the counter a furtive glace as well, mortified suddenly as she remembered where the evening had begun. “I haven’t decided yet. I might, but only if we can use this place again.”

“Of course you can. What do you want to know about him?”

Verity dropped the shrimp in her hand and stared at her sister in complete horror. “You did not check him out. Tell me you didn’t.”

“All I did was ask who he’d come in with. I looked up the member and asked a couple of discrete questions of a few staff, that’s all.”

“Don’t tell me anything. I didn’t ask him anything and I’m not sure I want to know anything. It was one night, no questions asked.  You should be familiar with the concept.” She gave Sage a warning glare.

“Fine, I’ll keep what I learned to myself.”

“Sage, I said I didn’t want to know.”

“And when he shows up again looking for you? What do I tell him then?”

Intuition told Vee there was something else going on. “You’re interested in him?” she guessed.

“Not if you say hands off.  But you should be glad you saw him first.”

Vee hadn’t had time to think about whether or not she wanted to see the man again, but her sister’s pushing was making her angry. Sage had to feel every man in the world wanted her. Besides, she could find him without her sister’s help, if she wanted, as Sage well knew. “Tell you what, Sage. If you can get him up here, you can have him. Since Avery’s back, it’s not like I’ll be around. What I’d rather talk about are the things I found in this kitchen. Don’t even try to play me.” She gave her sister a hard look, the catty behavior wiping way any guilt she might feel for not revealing her visit from the Triscaro.

Sage put on her best innocent look. “I let Rosemary use the place last week. Nobody can blame me for what she does, now can they?  Besides, this damn suspension has to end soon.”

Vee shoved off her stool, happy when it fell over, in spite of the sound-absorbing rubber flooring. Anger spoiled her appetite. “Sage, you have no idea who is watching us, or when. And why didn’t you mention our sister was in town? Never mind that. Back to what we were discussing. You need to start thinking before you act. I swear, you two are just like Him, aren’t you?  Too arrogant for your own good.  Playing fast and loose with your suspension might just get you a more serious punishment, do you ever think of that?” Or me. You never think of anyone but yourself.

“Don’t use that tone. Rosemary can visit if she wants. Besides, if you’d minded your own business, I wouldn’t be suspended and you wouldn’t have been….”

  “I’m gone, Sage. Thanks for lunch. When you see Rosemary, tell her I said hello, why don’t you?” She didn’t bother with the elevator, simply visualizing her car. It was stifling inside the vehicle.

Vee gunned the Mustang through the light afternoon traffic, trying to recapture the way she’d felt just before she’d realized Sage was in the apartment. The whole reason for taking the damn key from her sister had been to relax. Nothing like sex under a nearly full moon to help a woman center herself.  She’d been lying there wondering if he would show back up at Obsidian tonight, looking for her.  Not that she planned to be there, of course, but since he knew Sage had some authority, he could get security to call Sage, and Sage, in turn would call Vee.  Except Sage had a good look at him this morning, and now she wanted the damn guy.  She should have just asked him to meet her, but she’d decided to let him work for something, at least.

Damn Sage for screwing with that. Sage wouldn’t be able to resist making a pass at the guy, and men weren’t known for being selective. For all Vee knew, he preferred brunettes with green eyes. Hell. If Rosemary was around, he could have a blue-eyed red head. Okay, that wasn’t fair. Rosemary’s not like Sage.

  She pulled up in front of her detached garage and waited impatiently for the door to lift. Once parked, she sprang out of the car and hurried into the house, heading for a long bath. Then she planned to relax with a decent bottle of wine, a sandwich, and a jigsaw puzzle before pulling out her crystals. They’d been dark for too long.

She skidded to a stop as she saw the figure waiting in her living room. Her heart slammed into her sternum.

To be continued...

 Be sure and follow me over to razz my fellow romance author Jennifer Simpkins about her Yankees, she loves that. Seriously, she does. 

Thanks for dropping in. :)

Fluffers and Fillies #SexySnippets

Welcome to another Sunday of Sexy Snippets. This week, my seven come from the opening of my story for the Goodreads M/M Romance group's annual Dear Author event, Love Has No Boundaries. If you're unfamiliar with the event, readers write prompts for the stories they'd like to read. Authors then choose their prompt and have two months to knock out a story. If you're interested in joining the group, the largest active group on Goodreads and completely devoted to discussions of M/M romance, you can request to join here. 

It would seem all roads lead to Carmine House, the setting from  Forceful Negotiations, my latest release, since two supporting character from that book, Manny "Curt' Curtis and Joseph Gilante, become the main characters in Our Piece of Sky. The main characters from Forceful Negotiations and Breaking Glass, the Carmine Club prequel, Teague Tillis, Cameron Calloway, Jillian and Dylan Carmichael, and Wentworth Morgan show up as supporting characters in this story.

What? I always said it was a small town. <grin> Getting smaller every day.

For more about what goes on at Carmine House, click here.

I left Carmine House as I always do, by the back door. Also par for the course, I was seven hundred and fifty dollars richer and in awe of the lengths people will go to in order to satisfy their need for kink.

If I had to describe the job I perform for Willa Seachrist, I’d have to say it’s a cross between a fluffer and a body guard. You heard me right. Fluffer, as in the task performed on behalf of the porn industry—getting dicks hard for the camera. Although, there’s no dick-sucking at Carmine House.

Not by us anyway; we 'escorts' as Willa calls us, just get her little fillies wet and ready to be fucked.

Be sure to read the sexy snippets from the other participants. Check the links here, or follow on Twitter or Facebook. Thanks for dropping in. Have a great week!

Guarding the Line ~ Chapter 4, cont.

Ah, baseball. The great ego equalizer. After the Braves reeled off a 12-1 start, last week was reality-check time. Atlanta lost four out of five games, but they're  tied with the Rockies for the best record in the majors.

And I've sent Forceful Negotiations off to the proofreader, meaning it will hit the shelves at Amazon and other outlets later this week. I swear, I've birthed kids in less time. It was a challenge to sow the seeds for a variety of future stories while still writing one complete love story.

Since my daughter's pregnancy, we've enjoyed more than one egg roll feast and mother/daughter chat. I asked if she was in favor of gays being allowed to marry. Looking at me like I'd grown gills, she drawled,. "Well, duh. Of course I am. I can hardly wait to watch Gay Divorce Court!"


Guarding the Line, Chapter 4, continued.

continued

Last week, we left Mike and Verity in the VIP bar at Obsidian, when Mike realized he'd been dreaming about this woman for quite some time.

*~*~*~*~*

“Your choice, then." She set a shot glass on the bar in front of him. Her gaze appeared to roam his chest before she slowly lifted her eyes to his face. Her smile made his pulse kick up like dust in a whirlwind..

“You choose for me,” he said, smiling back. “Pick what you like and how about I buy you one?”

She didn't hesitate, slapping another shot glass on the bar. The thick blanket of her hair swirled around her when she turned away to select a bottle. She returned, tipping the bottle over the glasses and filling them with slightly amber liquid. He got a look at the label. The lady liked tequila, it seemed. He had to admit, her choice of Petron was an excellent one.

She sat the bottle back in its slot and reached for the shot glass.

“What, no salt, no lime?” 

“Lightweight,” she taunted, but she plopped a salt shaker in front of him with an ease that spoke of much practice, along with a dish of lime wedges. With a smirk, she added a pile of napkins. He couldn't respond, so fixed was he on the sight of her tongue sliding slowly along the skin of her left hand between her thumb and forefinger. He wanted to feel that tongue on his skin, wanted to see those gorgeous eyes darken when he—

With a slight shake of his head, he realized she was waiting for him to follow suit. Making sure to hold her gaze, he licked his own hand and sprinkled salt over the spot, lining up a lime wedge before reaching for his shot glass, more to give himself time to calm down than any other reason. God, those eyes. Mike raised his glass. “What are we drinking to?” he managed to rasp. His tongue felt as uncooperative as a new glove.

“Your turn to choose."

Damn, she wasn't giving him anything to work with. He cast around for something, deciding to remind her of their first meeting. “To Thane, then.”

“To Thane,” she agreed, tossing back the shot.

             She drank as if her glass had been filled with water. He realized belatedly she hadn't bothered with either the salt or the lime. But she held his eyes as he licked the salt from his own skin before raising the glass to his lips. He reached for the lime wedge. Recklessly, he offered the fruit to her. When she bit it, still staring into his eyes, he felt her lips brush his fingers, but he couldn't look away from her face. How many nights had he seen her eyes in his dreams? He hadn't believed real people had eyes the color of amethysts, but here she was, close enough to touch.

            The tequila traced fingers of fire down his throat, but the tiny swipe of her tongue across his thumb started a stronger burn south of his stomach. Regret flooded him as she pulled her head back, leaving the lime in his fingers. Still holding her gaze, he inserted the wedge in his mouth. She turned away, breaking the crazy feeling only the two of them existed in the crowded bar.Tossing the peel onto a napkin, he watched as she began fixing another round of drinks for the waitress who suddenly stood to his right. “When’s last call around here?” he asked.

            The scantily-clad girl gave him a knowing look, and then glanced back at the bartender, who was busily mixing drinks, her back to him. “Ten minutes to four,” she said with a groan.

            Mike glanced at his watch. It was only one-thirty. He suppressed a groan of his own. But she was pretty much a captive behind this bar, and he had nothing better to do than wait, and watch. He settled more comfortably into the tall chair.

            She brought the waitress a tray filled with frothy drinks. The girl ambled off with a sigh. The bartender picked up the bottle and poured him another shot. Before he could speak, she walked away again, this time to take orders from a large group that had just settled themselves at the opposite end of the long bar. A guy appeared behind the long slab of black marble, jockeying a keg on a pair of hand trucks. 

            “Did you go to Milwaukee for that?” she demanded.

“Sorry, Vee, its nuts out there. I been trying to get here for an hour.” The guy knelt to manhandle the keg into place.

Vee. What kind of nickname is that? Violet? 

When he finished the chore, the guy stood and pulled the tap until the amber liquid ran in a clear, steady stream. “There ya go, Vee. I’ll get somebody over here so you can have a break.  I guess I forgot that, too, huh?”

“I guess you did,” she agreed. “But its okay. I've been so busy, I forgot I needed one.”

The guy seemed reluctant to leave, Mike noticed. “Sorry, sweetheart, I’ll buy you breakfast to make up for neglecting you.”

Damn it, Mike thought as he listened to their exchange. He felt something lurch in his chest.

“No thanks, Remo. I have something to do after I get off.”

Mike watched through narrowed eyes. The guy with the keg smoothed a strand of her hair off her shoulder, taking the opportunity to let his hand drift a lot closer to her breast than Mike liked. She took a step back. “Aw, Vee, don’t be like that, girl. We both know you got nothing going on at five in the morning. Come on, let me buy you breakfast.” The offending hand moved closer to the dip in the top of her tight corset.

She slapped his hand. “I said, no thanks.” He dropped his hand, but it grazed her hip. half-rising, Mike knew that touch was no accident. She flinched, but her eyes flashed.

Mike watched the asshole grin at her, anger tightening his gut. He recognized the look in the guy’s eyes. It was probably the same look he wore, pure lust. He understood somehow, too, this wasn't the first time the guy had tried to touch her. She’d made it plain enough she didn't want the asshole's hands on her. He could see her dislike in the stiffness of her spine.

“Don’t you have something to do?” she snapped at the guy. “Like find somebody to relieve me, remember?”

The guy took tow steps, but turned back for one more try. “See you on your break, then.”

“Sorry, Reno. I have a better offer,” she spat, tilting her head.

Mike realized she meant him. He couldn’t resist a triumphant grin. The guy glared at him across the bar before striding away.

“Idiot,” she muttered, approaching Mike once more. “You still want that beer?”

“Are you okay?” he asked, wanting to comfort her. Somehow.

“Why wouldn't I be? He’s harmless, but irritating. I hate when guys just think it’s okay to—”  

To be continued on 4/29

Come with me to check in with the other Baseball Babes, Jennifer Simpkins and Kathleen Grieve. Oh, and I'm giving away copies of Breaking Glass, the lead-in story to Forceful Negotiations, for leaving a comment on this post and joining my Facebook author page until the 30th. Who knows? I might have to give away a few copies of Forceful Negotiations later this week on Facebook, too. Have a great week!

Guarding the Line ~ Chapter 4

Big week. The Braves swept the Nationals and are still firmly perched atop the NL East. I have re-edited Wildly Inappropriate and the story will be available again by the end of the week. And...my daughter's having a girl!

Six days later, Verity Alexander studied her reflection in her vanity mirror. The tattoo had been worth every penny, she decided.  Things were looking up all the way around. Her editor had salivated over the outline and first three chapters of the new story. And, she’d found the ring. Not that the ring was necessarily a good thing. She was still trying to get a reading on that. Her crystals had remained stubbornly mute, as had the gazing ball. She hoped the problem was on her end. a lack of use. With the Watchers in her home, she hadn’t been willing to open her mind to her gift often. The less the Triscaro knew about her, the better.

The sound of the phone interrupted her musing. She grabbed for the phone with one hand and a hand mirror with the other, still studying the tattoo. “Hello?”

“Vee, it’s Sage. I need a favor, please, please, please. You know I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate.”

“You want me to bartend tonight?” Vee guessed. Sage wouldn’t be begging otherwise.

“That damn Garrity. You were right about him, I caught him stealing last night and fired his ass, but I can’t find another bartender and get them trained overnight. I need you for a week, maybe more because Avery’s in Jamaica. Please, Vee,” Sage wheedled. 

Verity felt the same tangle of feelings she always had toward Sage. Love and exasperation. “I’ll help you, but I’m not splitting my tips.”

“No problem, I’ll kick in your percentage. Be here by nine? The door code’s changed.  7776. Gate code is still the same.”

Vee repeated the number that unlocked the employee entrance door. “For a minute there, I thought you were going patriotic.”

“Huh?”

She swallowed her sigh. Sage lived in the moment. And, she’d never been forced to attend school with humans and learn American History the way Verity had until she’d turned twelve. “See you at nine.”

 “I’ll get somebody to prep your bar.” Verity disconnected the call before Sage guilted her into coming in earlier to slice up fruit.

Vee stood in the staff locker room, trying to untangle the strings of jet beads dangling from the hair comb in her hand.  Sage insisted that female staff wear one of two approved hair ornaments, and Vee wasn’t about to use the roaring twenties style headband with feathers.  She could just imagine pieces of the stringy black-dyed ostrich feather landing in someone’s drink as she worked. When the final two strands of beads came loose, she gave her hips a little shake in celebration.

She brushed her hair away from her face, and caught the two strands above each ear, securing them behind her head with the comb, letting the rest fall free down her back.

Glancing at her watch, she realized she needed to get to her post. She gave herself a final once-over in the mirror, turning to look over her shoulder as best she could. The sign on the mirror reminded her to wash her hands. Out of habit, she tucked the small tin of healing ointment into her front pocket before slamming the locker closed, though the ointment had worked so well she doubted she’d need it tonight. The tattoo hadn’t itched the way Thane assured her it would.

Time to go to work.  The VIP bar opened at nine. She prayed someone had actually been assigned to do the prep.

She entered the quiet room and quickly went to work, logging into the computerized register. She occupied herself by setting up the bar back the way she liked it, and checking to be sure every surface sparkled as customers started drifting in. 

Soon, she was busy, too busy to notice when her sister appeared behind the bar.

“Vee, you saved my life.”

Again, Vee thought silently, giving Sage a quick hug. “Don’t mention it. The tips have been fantastic. Don’t you have better things to do than supervise me?  And,”—she shoved her sister aside playfully—“you’re in my way. Oh, and ask somebody to haul up a new keg of Budweiser, would you? I was ashamed to sell the last beer I tried to pour; it was almost pure foam, so I’ve been giving the guy free Bud Light.” She nodded in the direction of the customer who wanted that brand.

Few things annoyed Sage more than her staff giving away profits, Verity knew, hiding her grin. “You could’ve paged somebody,” her half-sister grumbled.

“Like I have time to figure out that complicated intercom system?” Vee plunked the six glasses onto a tray. Brushing past Sage, she delivered the order to the group of eight seated at the long bar.

Customers piled into the bar and Vee once again lost herself in the simple task of filling drink orders, keeping the long bar as sparkling as possible, and washing up glasses. The music seemed to grow louder, if  possible, but she found herself enjoying the band, going so far as to dance a bit as she poured shot after shot of alcohol into glasses, and crafted the elaborate drinks Obsidian featured.

Stacking her tray full of ornate drinks, she spun and felt her elbow connect with the heavy gallon jar of maraschino cherries. A full-blooded adorii could have used her powers to slide the fruit to safety. All Verity could do was clutch the tray of drinks and watch the sticky mess explode. Cherries bounced and rolled everywhere at her feet and the juice splashed everything from her shoes to her elbows. Tips had been good, but not when she deducted the cost of her leather pants. Dammit.

*****

Mike Reardon entered the VIP bar, hoping to find a spot quieter than the crowed main room. The music thrummed painfully in his temples and he wished like hell he hadn’t agreed to come out with his teammates. All he wanted was a quiet place to have a beer and lick his wounds. His run of inexplicable errors was killing him. He needed something to change his luck. Victor and Paulo insisted what he needed was to get laid, so they’d dragged him here. Not that he was in the mood for talking, much less trying to pick up a woman. All evening, his teammates talked about nothing but baseball, a topic he was sick of at the moment.

All the tables in the  room were full, but the long bar itself was empty. He didn’t see a bartender as he slid into a seat. Suddenly, a head popped up, followed by the rest of a delicious female form. Her back was to him, but Mike stared in disbelief at the reflection of the woman’s face in the mirror behind the bar. She looked like the woman he’d seen at Thane’s, the gorgeous, nearly-nude woman, getting an enormous tattoo. She wore a long-sleeved shirt so he couldn’t be sure. The bar was too dim to tell if the eyes were the same unusual color as those belonging to the girl stretched out in Thane’s chair.

She suddenly fired a towel at the sink, grabbed a new one, shoved it under running water, wrung it out, and disappeared once more.

His headache receded. He relaxed in his seat, patiently waiting for her to surface.

The blonde head popped up a few moments later, her back still to him. He couldn’t take his eyes off her reflection in the mirror. Suddenly, she whirled.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were waiting. What would you like?”

You. “Bud draft, please.”

She chuckled, but she swiped at her pants, eyes still lowered. Fine by him, he’d just watch while she fussed with the tight black leather pants. But he wanted a look at her eyes.

“That keg is empty. I’ve been waiting on a replacement all night. But,” she continued, leaning forward and lowering her voice and finally raising her eyes to his face, “the good news is, I’m giving away shots out of spite for being ignored.  Interested?”

Oh, he was interested, all right. Those eyes were definitely lavender. The view down the snug top was definitely interesting. “Sure, that sounds fine.” Mike forced the words past a suddenly-dry throat. She didn’t recognize him, apparently. And he was having trouble talking. Maybe because he’d seen her before, and not just at Thane’s. It hadn’t hit him until after he’d left the tattoo parlor, but he’d actually been seeing this face for a long time.

Come with me now to see what the other Baseball Babes, Jennifer Simpkins and Kathleen Grieve have in store for us today. Feel free to post anti-Yankee sentiments on Jennifer's blog post--she'll totally understand :D

Guarding the Line ~ Chapter 3

Welcome back! At 5-1, my Braves are off to a great start, sitting atop the National League East. I got to listen to a couple of games while I worked on the edits for Carmine Club this past week, as well as edits on Immortal, a vampire thriller I'm editing for author Kim Faulkes. 

The problem with sharing your head with the universe was, the universe had little regard for traffic rules, much less the consequences of showing you a place you were destined to go when you were doing eighty-five miles an hour on the busy by-pass around the third most populated city in America. Glaring in exasperation at the faded red bricks on the front of the building she’d seen in the gazing ball as the structure flashed by on her left, Verity slapped the small lever to activate her right turn signal. Trying to scoot her car in between a tractor trailer and a pickup in time to dive off the exit ramp was futile. The man driving the pickup flipped her the bird. Hello, Atlanta. The tea was sweet, the accents slow, but give a human male here a damn truck and he seemed to think the vinyl-clad front seat was a throne and the interstate his kingdom.

“Asshole.” The next exit was two miles ahead. Huffing, she slowed enough to merge right, falling in behind the older Chevy. Few adorii lived in Atlanta, explaining why more pickup drivers hadn't been turned into one of the trees these dude's favorite garments mocked. A tan and white pit bull hung his head over the tailgate. Drool splattered her windshield. Glaring at the tight choke collar around the dog’s neck and the leash attached to the toolbox lining the front of the bed, Verity’s temper flared. “May the Goddess seek a kinder master for your pup, and in her wisdom, make you unable to get it up.”

She doubted her impromptu curse would have any effect on the redneck poking along at fifty-five miles an hour. A call to Animal Control might be more effective. For the pit bull, anyway.

She didn't question why the shop was still lit this time of the evening, two hours after the closing time painted on the door. Peering between the faded trio of painted balls on the dirty glass, she spied a clerk. The door opened when she tugged on the handle.

“Just closin’ up. You can look around, though.” The man's grayed head remained bent over an old-fashioned brass cash register. Verity stepped over grass-crusted weed eaters and power saws, uninterested in the spinning racks of second-hand DVDs. The jewelry case held a wide array, but her gaze was drawn to a faded velveteen-covered tray filled with white and yellow gold bracelets. Lying atop an open slot in the back, she spied a gold circlet too wide to fit into a slot.

The shop proprietor slammed the resister drawer closed. Verity tapped the glass when he turned. “May I see that one please? The wide one, at the back?”

“Interesting piece. I never could figure out what this was. It might be an infant's bracelet, but if you look close, one edge is lined with small tines.” His heavy key ring jingled while he paged through the large selection, but another sound rang inside Verity’s skull. Impatience made her shift from foot to foot. It seemed an hour passed before he placed the object in her outstretched palm.

Verity held the weighty item close to her face, squinting in the dim light, trying to read the elaborate carvings. She doubted this human could ever guess what the band was designed to do. She had no desire to enlighten him. “How much?” Slowly turning the band, frustration made her fingers stiffen, causing her to nearly drop the piece. The letters were recognizable, but the words they formed made no sense. She couldn't interpret the phrase or name, but her heart rate increased. The metal felt too warm to be of this world, far warmer than the air in the chilly pawn shop. Could the clerk not feel the unusual heat?

She’d never seen a fidelis ring before, but she’d heard many whispered stories about them. Humans had once shackled the loins of their women to ensure faithfulness. The adorii princesses of old had these bands made for their consorts once they were betrothed. Refusal to don the fidelis ring was grounds dissolution of the engagement, or grounds for divorce after the union. To her eye, it appeared the weight alone would combat a full erection.

Though she could see no hinge, she knew the item bore a hidden clasp, opened only by an incantation. The ring didn't interfere with the male organ’s basic functions, but she could imagine the small barbs sitting just below the cock head  waiting to impale any man trying to have sex while wearing it, and only the person who'd bespelled the ring could remove it. rubbing her thumb across the shot, sturdy teeth, Verity shuddered, feeling sympathy for males who’d been trapped in a far more barbarous manner than any animal.

“Eight fifty,” he stated.

Without hesitation, she ceased her scrutiny of the ring, disturbed by her find. Why she’d been guided to a cock piece was a mystery she had little inclination to solve. Perhaps knowledge of the ring’s whereabouts was all that would be required of her. Verity dropped the fidelis piece onto the old man’s hand wordlessly, suppressing a shudder. A sense of unease slithered up her spine, watching him bounce the circlet in his open palm. Owning the cruel thing felt wrong, but leaving him in possession of the ring made her equally uneasy. Artifacts belonged in their normal realm.

She’d let the Fates decide. She had every dime of her savings with her, but had only two hundred dollars to spare. Sliding the bills from her back pocket, she laid them on the counter. Her heart hammered, watching the clerk’s watery brown eyes move from her cash to his merchandise. Her offer was far too low. He could scrap the ring for far more… but why hadn't he? The object was useless to a human. The ring’s only value in this realm lay in the gold. In the adorii realm, the pretty bauble meant a life of indentured servitude.

 “With tax, that’ll be…” he tried.

Verity shook her head, extending her hand with reluctance. He dropped the ring into her palm and swept her cash off the counter.

 “Gonna try it on?” Sarcasm dripped from his tone.

“I know it fits,” she replied, shoving the ring into the front pocket of her jeans and hurrying out the door. She didn't want to think it might have been made for a male in her family line.  

Out on the sidewalk, she hurried around the corner, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw the rims were still attached to her car. Her visit to the pawnshop had been brief, but in this neighborhood, a car could be stripped in the blink of an eye by those who made a living dealing in stolen car parts. First, she locked the ring in her dash, glad to have it out of sight. With a twist of her key, the big motor roared to life.

A half hour later, when she pulled into a different parking lot, it was fully dark.Verity eased the car into a parking space in front of what might’ve once been an old dry cleaning establishment.  Rather than ‘One Hour Martinizing’, the neon sign in the front window advertised tattoos. Twisting around despite the twinge of pain, she rooted in her back seat for a pair of sweatpants, an old t-shirt, and a robe. With her items clasped to her chest, she hurried inside, shoving her purse over one arm.

A bell on the door tinkled when she stepped inside, but the huge man she’d come to see lay sprawled on a cracked vinyl sofa leaking urethane foam. Easily more than six-four from his boots to the top of his bright red hair, the tattoo artist overwhelmed the shabby love seat.
“That new baby must be kicking your ass, Thane.”
He opened one eye to glare at her. “Who knew something so small could make so much noise?”
 She laughed as he sat up and scrubbed his hands over his eyes.  “Birth control is widely available, so I hear.”
“Yeah, yeah. I swear, Vee, I’m thinking about getting snipped. How long is this gonna last?”

 She placed the jewel case holding the computer disc into his outstretched hand. “In one way or another, until you’re dead, I hear. You ready to get started, or do I need to buy you a power drink first?”

He scrubbed his face with freckled hands.“Yes, Miss Slave Driver, I’m ready to get started. Damn, I used to be a bad ass. Now my life is full of pushy women. I got your stencils ready, and I’m almost awake. Cleared my schedule today, except for one VIP customer. I decided to let him roll in, just in case you decide to puke, pass out or quit. My money’s on all three.”

She fished the thick stack of cash out of her purse and fanned the bills. “We could bet the whole amount. If I sit still for the entire thing, and don’t wuss out like you seem to think I’m going to, my tat’s free. Deal?”

He eyed her confident expression. “Hell no, something tells me I’d lose. And frankly, I need the bucks. Kid keeps going to the doctor.” She watched him count the bills. Twenty-seven new one hundred dollar bills would pay a lot of pediatrician's bills. “Perfect, I’ll get Averill to do your paperwork when she gets here. Let’s go, girlfriend. I know how long you been waiting for this.”  Rising from the sofa, Thane detoured behind the counter to put the money in the safe before following her to his work space. 
She'd already shucked off her sweater and jeans. Standing in front of the mirror, braiding her hair to keep the mass out of his way, Verity saw the revulsion on his face, he couldn't hide fast enough. You’d think an old motorcycle gang member would be used to looking at scars. He’d seen the damage as they’d discussed her tat, but only in sections, not all at once. The ink was to be her way of taking back control, her way of turning ugliness into something beautiful.

“Uh, sorry,” he mumbled, realizing she’d caught him staring by looking in the mirror. “As soon as I get these stencils placed, you can put on your robe. Or I can work around it now if you like. The bra’s got to go, though.” His voice shook. “It’s not much, but at least the motherfucker left your face alone, Vee.”

She ignored the last comment. “Got over being shy a long time ago. You might as well get a good look at what you've got to work with.”

The former Hell's Angel enforcer turned away, picking up the spray bottle containing liquid soap and a disposable razor while she tried to get her anger under control. She needed his skill with a tattoo gun, not his pity. It was unbearable to dwell on the idea a man who’d once led such a rough life was revolted by the sight of her scars.

Who would want her now? She'd never been a candidate for an adorii mate and the Triscaro had rendered her unfit for a human one. Standing rigid while Thane applied her stencils, Verity bit her lip till she tasted blood.

~*~*~*~*~*

To be continued April 15. If you missed the first episode, you can read it here.

Thanks for dropping in. Now, come with me and check on the other two Baseball Babes, to see what Jennifer Simpkins and Kathleen Grieve have in store this week.