Last week, you met our heroes. This weeks, its the ladies' turn. Read on to meet some of the women created by the Nine Naughty Novelists.
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Erin Nicholas -- No Matter What
“The hospital Board is considering a proposal to expand the outpatient surgery department and radiology into the new wing.”
“And…” Jaden felt her stomach start to knot even before Rachel spoke again. She scribbled angrily to color in the noose she’d put around Dan’s neck.
“They’re tired of the building being partially finished. They want it done and used for something. They think it looks bad to have it just sitting there.”
Jaden felt every muscle in her neck and shoulders tighten. “So, Rehab is just out? Done? It’s over?”
“No, not officially.” Rachel sounded depressed. “We’re fighting for it. We have patients and their families writing letters. We have some of the doctors on our side. But the fact remains that we don’t have the money and we don’t…”
“Don’t what?” Jaden asked when Rachel stopped.
“We don’t have you,” Rachel said quietly. “You were our fearless leader. You were the one who always had another idea and who always knew what to say. The wing was your idea. You’re the one they listened to.”
Jaden felt like she might throw up. She wasn’t sure what to do. It might be too late. It might not be enough. “Rach…I have the money.”
“What?”
“Well, I will have. I’m…working on something.”
“For a million dollars?”
“Yes.”
“You better not be doing anything illegal,” Rachel said.
Jaden chuckled. Sort-of. “It’s therapy. I’m rehabilitating Adam Steele’s daughter, Emily.”
“Steele? As in Steele Enterprises?”
“The same.”
Rachel whistled. “Wow.”
“Yeah.” Wow was one word for it.
Reece stared at the woman sprawled across the busted fence boards at his feet. Who in the hell had he pissed off to deserve having to deal with the Calder family?
Violet gazed up at him like a deer caught in headlights.
Just fucking perfect.
Beside him, Strickland’s younger brother, known for his trigger-happy ways, reached for his gun.
Moving quick, and with what he hoped passed for concern, Reece crouched down. “Honey, I thought I told you to wait in the car.”
Violet blinked, those glossy lips of hers parted in confusion. Helping her to her feet, Reece kept his body strategically positioned between her and Strickland’s younger brother.
“You know her?” David Strickland kept his hand behind him. Suspicion tightened his face.
“She’s my girlfriend,” Reece decided and hauled her to his side even as she squirmed to put distance between them.
Read more
here*****
Meg Benjamin -- Be My Baby
The bell on the outer office door jingled, and Lars pushed back from his desk. His receptionist, Mrs. Suarez, was on a coffee break.
He stepped into the waiting room as the woman at the door muttered something. She wore a hooded sweatshirt and jeans, and she seemed oddly hunched. For a moment, he wondered if she was a homeless person who’d wandered in to escape the slight autumn chill outside.
“Can I help you?” he said, a little more briskly than usual.
The woman turned, and he immediately understood both the hunch and the muttering. She held a baby in a backpack in front of her. “Mr. Toleffson?” She straightened slightly. “I’m Jessamyn Carroll. We spoke on the phone.”
“Oh.” Lars did a quick memory search. “I didn’t know you had…that is, did you mention…”
“This is my son, Jack.” Jessamyn Carroll pushed the baby’s hat off and he bounced up, bracing his feet against the backpack frame.
He took a breath. Not necessarily a deal-breaker. “How old?”
“Nine months.”
“Any more at home?” He tried to make the question sound friendly. Multiple children didn’t necessarily mean she wouldn’t be able to take care of Daisy. On the other hand, the more kids around, the more possibilities that Daisy might lead an infant insurrection.
“Nope. Jack’s it.” She watched him carefully, probably waiting for him to tell her she couldn’t have the job because of the baby. Little did she know just how desperate he was.
“Come on in.” He gestured toward the office. “Let’s talk about this sitting down. He looks like a handful.”
“Handful, armful, you name it.” Ms. Carroll grinned as she stepped through the office door.
Lars felt a quick surge of warmth somewhere around his solar plexus. She had a killer smile, complete with dimples. Not, of course, that he was in any position to do anything about it—or wanted to. These days, he only had enough energy for Daisy and the office.
She set the pack down before he could step forward to help her, opening the frame to prop it up, then lifted the baby into her lap and flipped back her hood. Her short feathery hair glowed like old gold in the sunlight streaming through the office window.
The heat in his solar plexus increased. He willed his nether regions to knock it off as he slid into his desk chair. The last thing he wanted to deal with right now was a hard-on.
A small commotion at one of the booths across from the bar caught Brandon’s attention. Wow. Talk about your enchantresses, the young woman seated alone in the second booth in from the door made a much better candidate for the title than the woman Brandon had been contemplating.
The two women couldn’t be more different. Although their hair color was eerily similar, that, and their gender, were about the only things they seemed to have in common.
Marsha, for example, would no doubt fit right in here—in fact, it was from her that Brandon had learned of the brewery’s existence. While the stranger, on the other hand, with her dark skin and long auburn hair, carefully arranged in dozens of tiny braids, appeared as out of her element in the dim, dusty, countrified atmosphere of the tavern as a rare, exotic orchid would be in a field full of dandelions.
He watched her for several minutes—covertly, because he wasn’t a jackass like the other guys in the bar, most of whom were openly staring—and, man, she was definitely something worth staring at. She looked as regal as a princess, composed and elegant, yet with all the poised-to-flee hesitancy of a young gazelle, and she aroused a whole range of conflicting instincts within him. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to protect her, admire her beauty from a respectable distance, or chase her down and devour her.
Not that the eventual outcome posed much of a question. Base appetites were a lot more compelling than abstract constructs, after all. He hadn’t even needed the psychology elective he’d taken in his junior year to know that.
As he watched, she was approached by no less than seven different men in about twice as many minutes. Obviously, he was not the only orchid aficionado in the vicinity. She smiled at each one, and time and again Brandon felt the same peculiar wrenching in his gut. It seemed all wrong that she should hook up with any of the men here tonight, and he hated the idea that he might have to actually sit by and watch as it happened. It was a relief every time she turned one away, and Brandon’s appreciation for the unknown beauty grew stronger.
Clearly the woman had taste.
But, despite her lack of encouragement, he doubted the barrage would let up any time soon, she was just too tempting. Unless someone did something to stop it, he was sure she’d continue to be prey to unwanted advances all night long.
An odd collection of impulses brought him to his feet. It was part chivalry; his mother had been determined that her son grow up to be a proper southern gentleman, and a true gentleman must always come to the aid of a lady in distress.
And it was in part an innate belief in his own superiority—as well as in hers. A lady like this deserved someone a damned sight better than the kind of hick who made it a habit to hang around in dusty old bars. She deserved him, in fact. And he was not at all adverse to showing the local losers just how the game was played back home.
But mostly, he was driven by an overriding desire to get close enough to determine the exact color of her almond shaped eyes. To find out if all those bead-studded braids were real. To learn her name, her scent, the sound of her voice.
He asked the bartender for a second beer and a basket of peanuts and then, when they’d been delivered, he headed across the room; like Sir Galahad off to save a princess.
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here*****
Kate Davies -- Strip Tease
A staccato rap on the door put him on alert. He wasn’t expecting a contact until the bust went down. The last thing he needed was to blow his cover too soon.
“Come in.” He sat back in the folding chair. The door opened, and she walked in.
It was the customer. Or rather, The Customer. The one he’d noticed right off, even over the wince-inducing shock of seeing his colleagues in the audience. Of all the places he might expect to see a woman like this, a sleazy strip club was pretty much last on his list.
The first thing he’d noticed about her was her hair. Flame red, with a hint of curl, it swooped around her shoulders like that cartoon babe from Roger Rabbit, all sexy and sort of retro. A half-smile curved full red lips. And her body—have mercy.
What the hell was she doing at Strippendale’s?
“Can I help you?” He prayed the rickety chair wouldn’t collapse and dump him on his ass.
“Yeah,” she said, and licked her bottom lip. Shit, who needed a collapsing chair? That little nervous gesture almost dropped him to the floor. “I, uh, really liked your…” She waved her hand around. “Uh, your show.”
Hell. If the guys down at the station knew he was getting groupies, he’d never live it down. Then again, a groupie who looked like a long tall shot of sex might not be such a bad thing, either.
“Thanks,” he drawled.
“I’m Caroline,” She held out her hand.
He shook it, trying not to react to the softness of her skin contrasting with the firmness of her grip. “Tony,” he replied, motioning her to sit.
Too late, he remembered that he had the only chair, but before he could offer it to her, she had perched on the counter in front of the mirror. Her skirt hiked up, giving him a splendid view of her long, slim legs.
Why, why, why did he have to meet her here?
And why tonight, fifteen minutes before the operation was shut down for good?
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Kelly Jamieson -- Rigger
Control. Focus.
This wasn't going quite like he'd expected. He'd intended to create a rope design using Shaela's body as a canvas of sorts, a background to display the art that became a part of the art, but he was acutely aware of her naked, gorgeous body at his hands.
Christ, it had been a long time since he'd had thoughts of Shaela like this. If she'd only known in high school how many times she'd driven him crazy with her bossiness, her smart mouth, her need to control everything, how he'd wanted to grab her, tie her up, gag her and fuck her senseless. He'd thought he was long over that craziness, but those forgotten feelings all came rushing back as he studied her pretty body.
She was tiny—fine-boned, only an inch or two over five feet, a little on the thin side, but she had nice breasts and small firm buttocks that always seemed to snag his attention despite the fact that they were just friends.
Alek took air slowly in and out of his lungs as he worked with the rope. He tried to pretend she was someone he didn't know, a model, a photographic subject. It wasn't as if he'd never seen her naked before. The tiny bikinis she wore to the beach didn't exactly cover much, but now he was making all kinds of interesting discoveries.
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Skylar Kade -- The Cellar
The sultry jazz caressed my bare skin, tempting me to abandon my barstool in favor of the crowded dance floor. Wear nothing besides the contents of this box. Wait for me at the Cellar. Be at the bar at 9 pm. Though tempted to remain in my safe missionary-style-only world of sex, I could not defy the mandate. The dark world of submission into which I was slowly being led was too alluring and mysterious for me to ignore.
Weary from work and eager for the weekend, the pristine Neiman Marcus box I found on my doorstep that afternoon had started a staccato rhythm in my chest that had not ebbed since. The attached note was in meticulous script, a sophistication only matched by the enclosed outfit. Never in my years had I worn something as decadent as the champagne-colored shantung silk cocktail dress wrapped in layers of delicate tissue paper. The small bronze clutch and matching strappy stilettos only added to its allure.
That was my only excuse—I was tempted by the decadence, a modern-day Eve eager to know what I would learn from that forbidden bite. Without that, I never would have considered giving up the control for which he was asking.
Read the full story
here*****
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