Breathless: As a baby, Blue McCann's life
began extremely desolate when she was left in a trash
dumpster. These days, she is just as lonely and alone; the
bright moment in her day is the walk taking her past a
vintage store with a beautiful corset in the window. The
emotions created just gazing at it are pure euphoria, yet
elusive since she can't afford to purchase it. One cold and
rainy day the owner of the store offers Blue sympathy and
convinces her to try on the beautiful garment. As the last
lace is tied, an erotic fantasy begins to take place and
Blue can do nothing but give in.
To Die For: Tawny James understands from
past history that she must not draw attention to herself;
the outcome is too lonely. Her philosophy is working great
until she catches her boss in the arms of another woman.
Seeing this, Tawny goes a little crazy and shows him
exactly what she keeps hidden from everyone else.
Unfortunately, his reaction mirrors every other hot-blooded
male and she decides to run. Six months later, fate steps
in and puts a stalker in her world. The only man she can
turn to is the only one she trusts enough to help her.
Body by Gibson: Mariel Gibson's life was
altered after receiving some very harsh criticism regarding
her landscape paintings. Her confidence was so shattered
that other than teaching high-school art, she has not
picked up a paintbrush in three years. Between her parents
thinking art is a waste of time and the strong dislike from
her peer, Mariel feels worthless, yet restless. An
opportunity to regain her standing in the art world
presents itself in the form of a competition, but first she
has to make a few changes. Being bold is her first change.
She finds herself attempting to seduce the sexy carpenter
working on her house. It doesn't hurt that he is perfect
model material, but she's running out of ways to catch his
interest.
Bonnie Edwards' unique stories are full of humor and
seductive passion, which make them a pure joy and pleasure
to read!
Let go. Let go for me...
It was a house of sizzling seduction
with satisfaction guaranteed. Now the notorious bordello
Perdition House bares all its secrets - and ignites your
wildest fantasies...
Blue McCann longs to feel
desired...needed ...wanted. Now, thanks to a mysterious
corset, she's a lush-bodied beauty back in 1913. And she's
going to reward the caring, oh-so-capable hands of Dr. Colt
Stephens with all the pleasure he can take...
Tawny James has
legs - and secrets - that won't quit. And since she likes
her men big and bad, private investigator Stack Hamilton is
uncovering all her luscious desires...
And when Mariel Gibson
needs artistic inspiration, she calls hard-bodied carpenter
Danny Glenn to work his masterpiece - over and over again.
Because you can never, ever reveal too much...
Excerpt
Breathless
Blue McCann traced the lines of the corset through the
glass of the store window. Ivory satin and lace, the
exquisite vintage piece looked way out of her league. She
admired the delicacy of the hand stitching, as perfectly
even and precise today as it had been a hundred years ago.
Timeless, the handcrafted corset pulled her toward the
window every time she passed by.
Timelessness was alluring to people whose time was
up. Today, she'd gone out of her way to stop by just to
look. Silly, to dream of having a piece of clothing like
this one. Still, the corset pulled at her, made her dream
of wearing it. She smiled through her next cough. That's
why she came here, in spite of the rain, the unrelenting
coughing and pain, the corset reminded her she was a woman:
a sexual being. If she wore something like this corset she
could be desired, wanted, maybe even loved.
Loved? She must be delusional. A cough racked her
chest and she turned away, into the wind. Rain lashed her
face so she turned back, chilled more than ever. She had to
get home before the wind pushed the rain through her
clothes.
The cough went so deep she bent over, hating the
hollow feeling in her chest. She leaned on the glass for a
moment to catch the little breath she could. Love, the idea
was ridiculous, coming from a woman whose very name came
from the color of her skin when she was found in a
dumpster. The cop told the Head Nurse the newborn girl he'd
found had been so blue he thought she was a painted doll at
first.
On another gust of biting wind and rain, the shop
door opened and a woman stepped out. "Can I help you? Need
to use the facilities? Or maybe a phone?" She stepped
around Blue and put her hand on her shoulder. Warmth
radiated where the woman touched, even through her thin
jacket and thinner sweater.
She'd heard of hands like this. Healing, warming.
Blue had always hoped she had them.
The woman's body shielded Blue from passers by and
the nasty wind. "This corner is a raceway for wind gusts,"
the woman said. Her warm hands firmly urged her toward the
entrance to the store and Blue couldn't resist the softness
of the warm air that drew her into the store.
Out of the corner of her eye, the corset seemed to
shimmy, but a truck went by and rattled the glass. That was
all it was. The weight and rumble of the heavy truck and
made the glass shiver. She couldn't have seen the corset
actually move on its own.
"Thanks," she nodded at the woman. "I was just," she
hesitated, knowing she was silly to ask, "wondering how
much that corset is? It's beautiful." The heat from the
woman's hands infused her back, made her feel stronger. She
straightened, squared her shoulders.
"Come inside out of the rain and I'll take a look. I
can't remember the price. But with your coloring, it will
look fabulous on you." The husky, amused tone made it seem
like a done deal, but Blue was broker than broke and living
on nothing but dreams and whimsy. And not for long, either.
As Blue stepped to the door, she tried to see the
price tag but a draft twirled the tag like a leaf in
Autumn. "Whenever I stop here to check the price, the tag's
facing the wrong way." She coughed again and the woman
helped her to a stool by the cash desk. The woman's healing
hands fell away and Blue sank onto the stool, appalled at
how weak she felt.
"I don't want to cause you any grief with your boss,"
she said when she could. She knew how she looked. This kind
of store didn't entertain her kind of customer. The broke
kind and now that– .
"My name's Faye Grantham," the woman's voice cut off Blue's
thought, "and I am the boss. Welcome to TimeStop."
Blue raised her gaze to see a vision of white and
gold loveliness. "Pleased to meet you," she said.
Faye was a 50s movie siren, all blonde curves and a
come-hither look that seemed completely natural. "Wow!"
Blue breathed. "You're a knockout."
"Thanks, I like the look, although sometimes I go for
sixties mod rather than blonde bombshell." She did a twirl
and her skirt kicked up, showing a glimpse of
crinoline. "TimeStop specializes in vintage Hollywood
wardrobe castoffs, but the corset you admired came from the
attic in my home, Perdition House."
"Perdition House," Blue repeated, trying to place the
name. She came up empty.
Faye tilted her head, let her gaze slide down Blue's
body. "Would you care to try it on?" She waved a hand
toward the back where Blue saw a couple of dressing
rooms. "I think it will fit. And I'm sure the man in your
life would love to see you in it."
As much as she loved the corset, it could never be
hers. "I don't have the money for something so beautiful."
"I don't believe that will be a problem. Your name's
Blue McCann?"
"Yes, that's right," she said through a cough. "How
did you know?" She'd never been inside the store, she'd
have remembered.
Faye took Blue's hand in hers. She clasped it warmly
and her eyes held a deep caring smile that Blue could fall
into. "We must have met before because I recognized you
right away. Care for a cup of coffee, Blue?" She walked to
an old-fashioned coffee pot on a stand at the end of the
counter. She tilted the pot and poured a cup without
waiting for a response.
"Thanks, but I need to get home," Blue said
halfheartedly. The wind had kicked up even wilder. She'd be
soaked by the time she got to her place. But when Faye
offered her the cup she took it, and settled on the stool
as if she had all the time in the world.
"No point rushing out into this kind of weather,"
Faye said with a shiver.
Blue took a sip of coffee. Perfect. "How did you know
to put in half a teaspoon of sugar and two creams?"
"You told me, of course. You've got someone waiting
for you?" Faye asked, drawing Blue's attention away from
the delicious coffee.
"No, it's not that. I can't afford the corset, so I
don't see the sense–"
"We need a part-timer in the store," Faye interrupted
in an offhand way. "Maybe you'd be interested?"
"And maybe you don't see that I'm, ah–" Another cough
cut her off while she stood, ignoring the pain and weakness
that rode her every movement these days. "I'm no charity
case," she said. Tomorrow, maybe, but not today.
"This isn't charity, Blue, it's more like a
blessing," Faye said and slipped the corset into Blue's
hands. It felt as silky and sexy as it looked. She pursed
her lips, wanting badly to give herself permission to try
it on.
She clutched it to her chest. "A blessing," she
repeated.
Faye smiled and her eyes glowed with warmth and
caring. "I've got a feeling it'll fit as if it were made
for you." Her voice sounded hypnotic and soft-toned.
Mesmerizing.
She hadn't mentioned how she liked her coffee, she
was sure of it. The quiet calm of the store, the warmth of
the corset in her arms and Faye's deep smile soothed her.
She needed soothing. Suddenly tired of being brave, trying
to be strong, she soaked up the comfort of the store and
Faye's kindness.
"This corset has been in a trunk in Perdition for
nine decades, just waiting for you. For Blue McCann."
Faye's eyes were alight with promise and secret knowledge
that gave Blue an odd comfort.
The more Blue thought about it, the more certain she
was that she'd never met Faye Grantham before. She had a
great memory, strong, clear, precise. She could remember
the color of her kindergarten teacher's favorite dress, the
feeling of noiseless sobs when she was booted out of foster
homes she liked. She remembered being locked in that
sweltering car when she was three.
So, no matter what Faye said, Blue was certain she'd
never set eyes on her, let alone been introduced. As for
the corset? "I doubt it'll fit, but I guess there's no harm
in trying it on." Her voice had taken on the same soft
warmth as Faye's and Blue allowed Faye to lead her to a
dressing room.
To Die For
Prologue
1964 Las Vegas, Nevada
His brand new black Chevy Impala SS with the snazzy red
bucket seats sat between them and the far distant road. He
and Lenny were in a deep gully. Deep enough that the car
would never be seen by the travelers heading for the strip.
Frank LaMotta stood while Lenny sniveled on his knees
in the dirt by the left front fender. "Move away from the
car." He gestured with his pistol.
Lenny crawled like the maggot he was. When he got far
enough from the Chevy Frank leveled the gun again. Right
between Lenny's bulging eyes. "I don't wanna have to wash
your blood off it. Not when we just drove it off the lot."
Lenny's gaze flicked to the car. "You fuckin'
bastard, you knew I'd want to see it." Cars and women had
been a reason to compete for years.
"Where are the diamonds?" The boss didn't like the
idea of his goods being heisted. Lenny should have known
better.
"What diamonds?" But Lenny's lips twitched and Frank
wanted to laugh as piss ran into the dirt. Lenny always was
a coward. Worse, he thought he was better than everyone
else.
"You pissed yourself," he pointed out, enjoying the
moment. "If only Loretta could see you now."
Lenny narrowed his eyes, tried to look like a man
again. "You leave her out of this."
"Tell me where the diamonds are and maybe I will." He
raised his gun hand to indicate the fullness of the broad's
tits, while his other hand held his bulging crotch. "Maybe
I won't."
Lenny roared and made a lunge for the gun. Frank saw
the move coming and smashed the pistol into the stupid
bastard's temple. Lenny sank back, dazed, onto the hard
packed gully floor. "Tell me where you stashed the haul and
I'll leave her be." He shrugged as if fucking Loretta was
the last thing he wanted.
They both knew he was lying. He'd wanted that broad
since he'd first seen her on stage. But she'd chosen Lenny
first. Frank had been patient long enough.
A wild cunning entered Lenny's gaze. "I won't tell
you where I stashed the diamonds, Frank." He put his hands
up to implore. "You know I won't."
"You'll tell me or Loretta's next." After he fucked
her good and hard, just to let her know what she passed up
by taking Lenny into her bed.
The stupid bastard still shook his head. "Nah, you
wouldn't hurt her. Not when she told me how she feels about
you."
His cock twitched to life. "Whadda ya mean?"
"I came back for her and she told me. Damn broad! I
came back for her. If I hadn't I'd'a been in South America
by now. You never would'a found me."
"What'd she tell you?" Any red blooded male would
focus on Loretta. That woman left him speechless. He almost
hated her for it.
"She wouldn't leave with me, because of you." Lenny
shook his head sadly. "Fuckin' broad. Can't trust 'em.
Never could."
He and Lenny had talked once about getting out, what
it would be like, but fuck it, that dream was dead as Lenny.
"We've known each other a lot of years," Lenny
whined. "Do me one favor."
Frank nodded, pleased at the idea of Loretta waiting
for him, wet and ready. He nodded. "For the sake of the
years."
"Loretta. The boss might figure she knows more'n she
does. I never told her anything, I swear." The knowledge of
his death sat clear in his gaze. "I got the feeling the
last few weeks there was someone else, so I never told her
nothin'."
Stupid bastard good as told him she'd been thinking
about Frank. He stopped a moan at the thought of all that
female flesh quivering for him. He could taste her now.
He'd keep her name out of it. He'd keep her for
himself. "When I'm banging her tonight, I'll think of you."
The bullet hit clean. Least he could do for a friend.
Lenny slumped, life draining into the dirt, following the
track of piss. They'd run together for fifteen years. But
now, Frank had a new Chevy and Lenny's woman.
Today, Seattle WA
The phone call he never expected to get came at four forty
p.m. on Saturday. Tawny James. Hallelujah.
He tried like hell to keep up with what she said, but
images of Tawny flashed into his mind. He saw her legs,
breasts, incredible hips, all smooth and lush with those
dimples just below the small of her back where her ass
filled out her bikini bottom.
Which was exactly what she expected would happen.
Which was why she'd quit working for him in the first place.
He pulled his head back from where it wanted to go
and shoved it back into the conversation. Something she
said raised every one of his protective instincts. She was
in danger and he'd been doing the teenage fantasy thing
about her body. He was such a shit. And she knew it. "A
stalker?" he asked. "You're sure?"
"Some creep's just gone through my laundry at the
Wash'n'Suds, Stack. What would you call it if it isn't
stalking?"
"Sick? Perverted?" Stalking, why hadn't he thought of
that? This guy was probably another ex-boss who lov– wanted
to get her into bed.
"Me, too, except this is the last straw. This guy's
been in my house."
"What? When?" And the all-important
question. "Where?" He jotted her address, but he memorized
it as she spoke. Each syllable stood emblazoned in his
skull.
"I'll come get you," he said, "and bring you here. If
he's watching, he'll see you've reached out for help."
"Once he gets a load of your size, that may be enough
to make him back off." She chuckled, low and breathless in
that husky way she had that made him think of her breasts,
jiggling and her ass, all soft– pull it back, Stack. Now.
"I have a sense he's some weasel of a guy that I'd
never notice in my daily routine," she explained.
"Not an ex?" Which was the way these things usually
went. But the underwear angle didn't seem right for a love
affair gone wrong. Not unless the guy shredded her clothes.
Most of Tawny's clothes deserved to be shredded.
"I don't have any exes, Stack. Just you."
Body by Gibson
Mariel Gibson sat in her usual seat in the corner of the
teacher's lounge. She flipped to the arts and culture
section of the football coach's copy of the newspaper. An
announcement caught her attention and as she leaned in
closer to read it, her shoulders pulled tight and a light
sweat broke out on her forehead. A competition for artists.
One of the judges was Nigel Withers. Rat bastard.
She took a surreptitious glance around the lounge. No
one watched her, they never did. In a sports mad high
school full of jocks, mousy Mariel never attracted
attention.
Without so much as a niggle of guilt, she tore the
page out of the super jock's paper and folded it neatly
into quarters, then eighths. She doubted the strutting
jockstrap would ever notice the arts and culture page
missing. Slipping the square of paper into the front pocket
of her denim jumper, she stood and headed into the ladies'
room. A splash of cool water on her neck and wrists calmed
her. A competition! Dare she enter?
Nigel Withers. The idea of facing him in such a
public forum made her belly roll in dread. She lowered her
head to watch the faucet drip into the sink and remembered
how he'd sliced her to ribbons. Cut out her heart. Stole
the love of her life!
Rat bastard.
She'd suffered for three years because of him. She
turned on the cold water again and shoved her wrists under
the stream, in a bid to regain her sanity. If not her
sanity, then at least her good sense.
But still, the chance to prove that she was better
than mediocre didn't come along every day. Mediocre. Was
there an uglier word? She doubted it. A do-nothing, says
nothing word that killed her artistic soul. After all,
there was only so much bland to go around and she had more
than her share.
It would have been better if he'd hated her work.
Then she would have known she'd created some kind of
emotional response. But mediocre? Arrgh!
Just to add salt to the wound, the pompous ass had
leered at her breasts. “I often tell artists they have a
good hand, but you, my dear, could do better with your
mouth.”
The pig.
He’d pinched her cheeks to make an O of her lips.
Nothing hurt but her pride. She'd slapped his hand away in
a reflexive motion and shoved her canvases back into her
portfolio.
He wore an expression that said being serviced was
his due. After all, he owned one of the city’s most
prestigious art galleries. He said, calmly and cooly, that
his word could make her career, bring her art the attention
she hoped for. And for one brief second she wanted, really
wanted to prove to her family that she could make a living
with her talent.
Hearing him, wanting what he offered, she had the
sickening sense that if she refused him she would never
muster enough courage to show her work to anyone again.
Nigel Withers hadn’t hurt her physically, but her creative
spirit shriveled.
“You want me to– you hate my paintings and you want
me to– “ she was near breathless with shock, needing to
understand.
”Hate your paintings?" He looked at his well-buffed
nails. "No, you misunderstand, your canvases are too
mediocre to hate. They’re beige, lifeless." And then he
dived in for the kill. "There isn’t enough talent on those
canvases to cause a reaction.”
She ran out, devastated, her movements stiff and
awkward.
Three years later, she still suspected he was right.
She lifted her head and stared into the mirror. She’d let
that rat bastard ruin the last three years of her life. But
she refused to let him ruin the rest of it.
The fire of determination filled her eyes and she
straightened. She would enter this competition for better
or worse and would learn the truth.
Could she live with a confirmation that she would
never be more, be better, than a wanna be? Yes, because at
least she could move on with the other areas of her life.
She could say she'd given it one more shot and done her
best.
She gathered the tattered remnants of her pride and
turned the dripping water faucet off tight.
She had to face Nigel Withers again, or she'd be
stuck in this stasis forever. The thought was not to be
borne.
Two hours later, she sat in her car inside her garage
with one foot on the floor and the other still inside the
car. Her car keys filled one hand and her briefcase sat on
her lap. She'd been sitting here for three full minutes,
frozen in excited fear.
She was too rattled to think clearly. Rattled.
Exhilarated! Terrified!
A glance in the rearview mirror told her she looked a
mess. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks pink, she had a fine
sheen across her forehead. If she didn't know better, she'd
think she'd just been having sex. Great sex. Hot sex.
Hah! Like she even remembered the last time she'd had
sex when she wasn't alone. She let her head fall back on
the headrest. Closed her eyes and allowed her mind to
wander to Danny.
Danny Glenn. Her carpenter.
He would finish building the deck soon, and then he'd
move onto a new job somewhere else. For six months he had
been coming to her house, working on various renovations.
For six months, she had been running out of batteries once
a week. Nice, but not enough to keep the man off her mind.
It was one thing to try to show Nigel Withers that
she was an artist with merit, it was quite another to tempt
Danny into seeing her as desirable.
Maybe the two were connected. The stereotype of an
artistic woman was a free spirit, flamboyant and confident.
A sexual being, ready to explore her boundaries.
Mariel the mousy high school art teacher exploring
her sexuality? Oh, please. The jocks at the school would
have a field day with that idea.
Still, if she managed to seduce Danny, then she'd
feel much more confident about this competition. She could
face Nigel Withers without blinking. She'd know that even
if she wasn't the artist she hoped to be, that at least
she'd discovered herself as a woman. Maybe she could become
a free spirit. Maybe she could be flamboyant and paint her
nails black and dye her hair green.
So, she now had two ways to seize control of her
life. The first plan was to get with Danny Glenn, to gain
the confidence to face the rat bastard, Nigel Withers. Her
belly clenched. And if Danny didn't take the bait? If he
laughed at her awkward moves?
In her dreams, she was never awkward. What she needed
to do was simple. She needed to think like Jayne. Jayne
never shied away from hot sexy men or hot sexy behavior.
She closed her eyes, brought an image of Danny into
her mind. The man was a perfect specimen. Sun-bleached
brown hair, wide shoulders, long lean legs and forearms
that made her drool.
Some men knew they were gorgeous and played it up,
but other men just were. He didn't have a clue how he
effected her; he never would unless she showed him. Talk
about terror, her heart palpitated to think about showing
Danny her wild side when she wasn't even sure she had one.