Authors: Doris O'Connor
Lure of Forever
Evernight
Publishing
Copyright© 2012 Doris O’Connor
ISBN:
978-1-927368-66-4
Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs
Editor: JC Chute
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of
this copyrighted work is illegal.
No
part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without
written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and
places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales,
organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
Give me 500 words,
containing narrow boat, thigh highs, lantern, and
costa
coffee.
Thank
you Jo for that mental kick up the behind.
This is for you.
LURE OF FOREVER
Doris O’Connor
Copyright © 2012
Chapter One
Coralie
grumbled under her breath, clutching the lukewarm cup of coffee to her
half-naked chest in a vain effort to warm up. Who, in the name of all that was
holy, would want a Strip-o-Gram on a canal boat?
In the rain?
Why ever had she agreed to this? Surely, there had to be an easier way to earn
a living.
As she tottered along the canal
path, her thigh-high stiletto boots kept slipping in the mud underfoot, making
her feel less like a Strip-o-Gram and more like a mud wrestler.
Never again.
Jerry would just have to do
her
own
dirty work in the future.
The canal boat suddenly appearing
around the corner announced her destination.
Right, here goes nothing.
She pushed sodden strands of chestnut hair out of her face, tossed the useless
coffee into the canal, and straightened her shoulders.
The
better to show off her cleavage.
Before she could rap on the door, it
swung open, and
Coralie's
jaw hit the floor.
The man standing in the open doorway
had to be at least six-foot-three of sex on legs, a drop-dead-gorgeous male in
tightly packed designer jeans. The light spilling through the door silhouetted
his broad shoulders and muscled torso, tapering off to lean hips and strong
thighs, ending in Italian designer shoes.
Who wore designer shoes on a
blinking canal boat?
Before she could voice that opinion,
however, the man grabbed
Coralie
around the waist with
a growl that vibrated through every fiber of her body. He shoved her into the
room's bright interior with a muttered French curse.
She collided with another warm male chest,
and looked up into amused silver-grey eyes.
"Forgive my friend Lucas. He's
just had some bad news."
Another mountain of a man, his
rugged features holding an appreciative smile as he ran his eyes slowly over
her body, winked at her and let her go. She stepped back, unease traveling down
her spine. The boat was filled with several more enticing examples of
wannabe-Chippendale's men, and one ethereally beautiful blonde woman whose
assessing, ice-cold blue stare made
Coralie
feel as
though she was dessert. Suddenly all too aware of her half-naked guise, she
wished she'd brought a coat to hide behind.
To top it off, she was dripping water on the immaculately polished oak
flooring.
"Oh, is it snack time? You
could have found something cleaner…"
Cleaner?
Who did this woman think she was? And what did she mean, 'snack time'? The
tendril of unease increased and
Coralie
shook her
head. Were those fangs in the woman's mouth? She shouldn't have watched that
old horror movie last night, clearly.
A
quick glance around showed that half of the other people also sported fangs,
and the man she'd stumbled against didn't look amused anymore. At least he
wasn't sporting fake teeth. Thank the Lord for small mercies.
Oh, good God. I've walked into a boat full
of wannabe vampire loonies. It isn't even Halloween, for pity's sake.
Coralie
took another step back and made direct contact with Mr. Super Gorgeous.
He looked positively murderous, his
moss-green eyes glittering in barely suppressed fury as he shoved one hand
through his mop of black hair, and
Coralie
groaned to
herself
. That “bed hair” of his looked way too sexy.
She could almost forgive him the fake teeth he was also sporting. Typical: the
first man in ages to make her libido sit up and take notice, and he was some
sort of weirdo with a vampire fetish.
"Ok, you … you… whatever you
may be,"
Coralie
pulled her shoulders back and
tried for a seductive smile. The sooner she did her number, the faster she
could get away from these… people. Calling the murderous-looking hunk––whose
seductive gaze now settled fully on her––a 'crank pot' would probably not earn
her a generous tip. "Just tell me who the birthday boy is and I'll be out
of your hair."
"Birthday
boy?"
He growled the words, and butterflies settled
in
Coralie's
stomach. His eyebrows drew together as
he glared at her.
Heaven
help me
.
The deep, slightly accented voice
came straight out of every one of her fantasies. Too bad the man himself was
not only weird, but also clearly not the brightest star in the pack.
"Yes, the birthday boy. Believe
it or not, I don't normally run around dressed like a third-rate hooker."
She pointed to her laced-up ivory top and short black skirt that comprised the
French maid's outfit she'd just about managed to squeeze into. "And I
don't go knocking on strange men's doors for the fun of it. You booked a Strip-o-Gram
for the birthday boy, so tell me who he is, so I can get this over with."
And please stop staring at me as
though you've never seen boobs before.
He had stopped glaring at her during
her little speech and his eyes weren't frosty anymore. Quite the opposite, in
fact, if the way her body reacted to him was anything to go by. Damn it all,
what was wrong with her today?
This was
all Jerry's fault. She had to find herself a decent job and not rely on
Coralie
to bail her out all the time. Now, what was he
saying?
It was his turn to stare at her as
though she wasn't quite right in the head. Thankfully, the slightly puzzled
expression on his face meant she could breathe normally again. It had to be
because she’d been caught in the rain in this ridiculous outfit that she felt
so strange. She was probably coming down with the flu––
yes,
that
had to be it.
Nothing at all to do with the man
addressing her, again, in that to-die-for voice.
"Are you suggesting I would
call a Strip-o-Gram?"
He sounded positively offended, whilst
the man behind him erupted into gales of laughter.
"Well, Lucas, you could do
worse."
"Shut
up, fleabag.
This isn't funny."
"It
so
is. But if you didn't call her, who did? Unless…"
He sobered up, and threw
Coralie
a considering glance that gave her the shivers.
Heck, she felt better when they were staring down her cleavage.
"Unless what? For goodness
sake, stop playing games and tell me where you want me." Heat rose in her
cheeks as Lucas's gaze once again settled on her nipples, poking through the
sheer fabric of her top like come-and-get-me beacons. She crossed her arms.
"Or I shall just leave now and tell the agency this was all a
mistake?"
And
lose Jerry her much-needed payment?
Who are
you kidding, girl, you wouldn't do that.
It was strange, though. The agency
had offered extra pay due to the location, and that's why Jerry had pleaded
with her to go in her place. She couldn't afford any more no-shows, or the
agency would let her go, and she needed the money for little
Suz
.
So if these two didn't call her…
Embarrassment flooded her when
Coralie
realized what must have happened. In the dark and
her befuddled, half-frozen state, she'd stumbled on to the first available
boat. What's the betting her destination was around the next bend?
Great.
She would have to make her excuses and endure this
whole scenario again, and what's more, she'd have to step out into the rain
that was now pelting the roof of the boat.
Sighing deeply, she stared at the
mud on the floor with a frown. This was so embarrassing. Not only had she
turned up on the wrong boat, she’d also dragged a load of mud and water in with
her.
May the ground swallow her whole,
right here and
now.
Of course, that magic rabbit hole
was never there when you needed it––not that she believed in magic.
"I'm sorry. It seems I got the
wrong boat. I will leave you be. Do whatever it is that you were doing."
