Page 220 of Bend
I am thirty-two. I am not dead. I am not in a relationship. I am bored. I am tempted to say, had he asked me to pack up my house and move to Florida right now, I would say yes.
“See me next weekend. I’ll send you a plane. It won’t be the jet you girls flew in on, but it’ll get to Lauderdale easier than commercial.”
I look at him. “How do you know what we came in on?”
“Don’t get too excited. I was at the private airport when you arrived.” He runs a hand through my hair. “Pretty blondes always catch my eye.”
I let out a huff of air. “We’re almost all blondes.”
He smiles, that grin tugging hard at my vulnerable heart. “You leave them all in the dust.”
The blush hot on my cheeks, I lift my mouth, stopped from a kiss by his hand on my chest. “Next weekend?”
I smile. “Next weekend. I’m not promising anything more after that.”
My words may not have promised, but my heart? It is toast. It is already booking wedding venues, picking out baby names, tying unbreakable knots in the bond between his heart and mine. I feel his hand relax, the resistance gone, and he closes the distance between our lips. Surrendering myself to him, I feel the crush of our souls, as our touches say what our lips are not ready for.
I came for vacation. I found, in those hours, the other half of my soul.
The End
Still is, in this anthology, a novella. But it has big plans. To grow legs and stretch into a full-length novel. There is so much ahead for this couple. Heat, fear, love, and deceit. My image for their story… it’s insanity. I have no idea if the final book will stick to the vision I have for it – my stories rarely end up how I picture them finishing. But either way, I promise, it will be a sexy wild ride. Stay up to date on the progress of this book, and any others, by joining my mailing list. Any new subscribers in the month of May and June will be automatically entered to win a signed paperback. Ten winners will be drawn, so you have a good chance of winning. Loyal readers, feel free to re-subscribe.
SUBSCRIBE TO MY MAILING LIST HERE
If you prefer social networking, here are all of the ways to find me:
Facebook
Twitter
Goodreads
Pinterest
Instagram
beg.
Songs of Submission - Book One
CD Reiss
Copyright © 2013
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons living or dead is purely coincidental
Cover Art designed by the author
one
At the height of singing the last note, when my lungs were still full and I was switching from pure physical power to emotional thrust, I was blindsided by last night’s dream. Like most dreams, it hadn’t had a story. I was on top of a grand piano on the rooftop bar of Hotel K. The fact that the real hotel didn’t have a piano on the roof notwithstanding, I was on it and naked from the waist down, propped on my elbows. My knees were spread further apart than physically possible. Customers drank their thirty-dollar drinks and watched as I sang. The song didn’t have words, but I knew them well, and as the strange man with his head between my legs licked me, I sang harder and harder until I woke up with an arched back and soaked sheets, hanging on to a middle C for dear life.
Same as the last note of our last song, and I held it like a stranger was pleasuring me on a nonexistent piano. I drew that last note out for everything it was worth, pulling from deep inside my diaphragm, feeling the song rattle the bones of my rib cage, sweat pouring down my face. It was my note. The dream told me so. Even after Harry stopped strumming and Gabby’s keyboard softened to silence, I croaked out the last tearful strain as if gripping the edge of a precipice.
When I opened my eyes in the dark club, I knew I had them; every one of them stared at me as if I had just ripped out their souls, put them in envelopes, and sent them back to their mothers, COD. Even in the few silent seconds after I stopped, when most singers would worry that they’d lost the audience, I knew I hadn’t; they just needed permission to applaud. When I smiled, permission was granted, and they clapped all right.
